


Resurrection

by Amethystina



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, I'm a sucker for happy endings, M/M, Not compatible with Teen Wolf season 3, Purgatory, Spoilers for Supernatural season 8, Temporary Character Death, just FYI
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-26 13:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethystina/pseuds/Amethystina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek hadn't planned to die, least of all when he had finally started to acknowledge the growing attraction he felt for Stiles — an attraction he knew was mutual. But die he did, his soul ending up in Purgatory just like he had been told that it would. Despite this he felt unable to let go. He couldn't forget the life he had left behind — his hopes for the future.</p><p>So when the opportunity presents itself for Derek to return to the land of the living, he takes it, heedless of the rules he might be breaking. Even partnering with a hunter seems like a small price to pay.</p><p>Dean Winchester can get Derek out of Purgatory and back to Stiles. Derek's willing to take that chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Death

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fanfic inspired by [THIS](http://stucklings.tumblr.com/post/61205740728/derek-doesnt-know-if-hes-doing-the-right-thing) awesome gifset over at Tumblr, by [stucklings](http://stucklings.tumblr.com/). I liked the idea so much that I asked for permission to write a fanfic based on it and here we are!
> 
> It was written a couple of months ago which is why I've ignored the third season of Teen Wolf (although I probably would have anyway) so there's no alpha pack and Erica and Boyd were never kidnapped. Awesome. Dean and Cas feature mostly as side characters but there ARE spoilers for Supernatural season 8 and I'm sort of assuming that you've seen it since I don't explain the details as clearly as I would have otherwise.
> 
> [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum) is my beta once again and I might have brought her to the verge of tears with this first chapter (and during some instances in the other two). So be warned xD You can always find me over at my [Tumblr](http://amethystinawrites.tumblr.com/) if you have any questions!

 

* * *

 

Contrary to popular belief, Derek hadn't thought that much about how he would die. He had always known that it would happen eventually, as seemed to be the proper procedure, but he had never delved deeper into the actual scenarios or mechanics. There had certainly been situations where he had been close — which he had faced with a bland kind of acceptance — but he always survived in the end.

Perhaps he had grown used to that. Perhaps he wasn't as careful as he should have been because, hey — he always pulled through somehow.

It turned out that when he finally _did_ die, it wasn't at all like he had pictured — all because of one tiny yet fundamental detail. He wasn't alone. He had always assumed that no matter how he finally went down and for whatever reason he did so, he would be alone. He'd take his final breath surrounded by silence, stillness, and nothing but his own misery.

He had always thought that he would die alone.

A part of him wished that he had, if only to save Stiles the agony of watching Derek slowly choke on his own blood, helpless to save him.

Yeah, Derek would definitely have changed that if he could.

There was a time when Derek would have defined him and Stiles as reluctant allies at best and spiteful adversaries at worst. They didn't like each other. They didn't trust each other. Derek spent most of their shared time glaring while Stiles relied on sarcastic jibes to show his displeasure. They didn't mesh yet still found themselves working together for Scott's sake or, occasionally, the greater good.

But they were always fighting.

While Derek tried to delude himself that he hated being near Stiles, a part of him had stopped doing so long ago. It was thrilling to interact with Stiles. No one treated Derek the way Stiles did, with his sharp words and biting wit. He was one of the few who dared to touch Derek and definitely the only one who could provoke him so effortlessly with nothing but a look. Stiles always came back for more, always stood his ground, and always challenged Derek to react and respond.

Secretly, Derek loved it — longed for it even, in his weaker moments.

No one had given Derek that kind of attention since his family died, since Laura died. Stiles wasn't fearless, but he was brave — and maybe just a tiny bit stupid.

Stiles had baffled Derek at first since he didn't follow any of the rules Derek usually abided by, but he had learned soon enough that part of the beauty with Stiles was his unpredictable nature. How he could snap and demand obedience one moment and seek reassurance the next. How his entire being seemed to vibrate with excitement and energy, even when he was supposed to be at ease. Stiles smelled like life and his voice was loud and intrusive, but there was just something about him — something that Derek reluctantly found himself liking.

Something he felt drawn to, even if he denied it most of the time.

But, without any immediate threat to Beacon Hills and its residents, they didn't exactly talk much. They had no reason to. Scott was still determined to remain an omega and without him as the common denominator Derek had no reason to meet with Stiles and therefore didn't. A part of him wanted to, when he grew bored and restless, pacing his newly acquired loft, but he was too proud. Not to mention that Stiles probably wouldn't be pleased about it; they were supposed to hate each other.

That was how things were and seemed to remain, until the day Allison warned Scott that hunters were coming to town. Ruthless ones, who had heard rumors about all the frequent deaths in Beacon Hills, and no assurances her father gave them about the situation being handled seemed to appease them.

That was when everything changed.

It was a month and a half after the new school year had begun — not that something like that influenced Derek to any major degree — and several months after Gerard had been beaten and Jackson had survived the transition from kanima to werewolf.

Scott was considerate enough to forward the warning about the hunters, but Derek didn't really know what he was meant to do with the information. He spread it to his betas, of course, but Isaac had probably heard from Scott already and Erica and Boyd, well — they weren't exactly on casually speaking terms.

But Derek warned them, urging them to keep a low profile, and then went back to his own business. He didn't know what else was expected of him. He wasn't going to go off and pick a fight — not when he could just as easily wait the hunters out. He told his betas to do the same and if he felt a twinge of failure when he saw the slowly fading trust in Isaac's eyes, well, Derek had earned it.

He was a terrible alpha.

People kept pointing that out to him as if he didn't know it already, but he was probably the first to have noticed that he would disappoint them all. He had never been intended for that position even if he — during a brief moment, just as he slashed Peter's throat and took the power for himself — had hoped that he could somehow grow into it. He had tried, of course, but being an alpha didn't come naturally to him. He could make his betas obey and protect them, but he couldn't shelter and lead.

There was a subtle difference between leading and just demanding obedience. Derek always seemed to manage the latter, never the former.

A part of him had given up. After Erica and Boyd's betrayal and Scott's insistence not to join their pack, Derek had started wondering why he even tried in the first place. He might be stubborn but he wasn't stupid — this wasn't working. He would never be a good alpha unless he made some drastic changes, but he had no idea what those changes would be.

This was who he was.

Even if he would be willing to change — which he was, to a certain degree — he had no idea in which direction to go. No one had ever told him about that; his upbringing hadn't prepared him for this. He had no idea how to be an alpha and he could tell that his betas and everyone around him knew it too.

He _was_ the piece that didn't fit — not with his betas, or Scott, or Stiles, or with anyone else he knew. Even Peter was just there to annoy him and remind him of how utterly pathetic he was. It had reached the point where Derek started avoiding his uncle as best he could. Considering that Peter was his only living relative, that said quite a lot about Derek's state of mind.

He was so tired of it all.

As a result, he neglected his betas. He still tried with Isaac from time to time, but it was obvious that he had started to rely more on Scott than Derek by then.

Derek was obsolete.

Not that Scott would be a good alpha either — he was far too naïve. Not to mention Scott's repeated failures to understand that distractions were a hindrance. In order to survive, you either needed to limit them or learn how to handle them — Scott never really seemed to grasp that part.

But that was none of Derek's business. Scott wasn't his beta and Derek had honestly started wondering if trying to recruit him was even worth the effort.

The thought of giving up grieved him because Derek knew that Scott was a valuable ally — loyal and kind — and he made Derek feel less fractured and harsh. Scott and Stiles both did that, so Derek wouldn't even mind if Stiles tagged along. He just wanted a larger pack.

He missed having a larger pack.

But perhaps this was the universe's way of telling him that he wasn't worth it; he had gotten his family killed and now he didn't deserve the comfort of a pack. He would only cause them harm and fail at everything he attempted — even when he tried to do good.

Derek had never outright tried to be the villain — his mother had raised him better than that — but it was obvious that he had different standards than most others. To him it wasn't odd to kill a threat. If you didn't kill your opponent you only gave them the opportunity to attack you again.

Scott didn't agree with that philosophy and sometimes that made Derek the villain in Scott's eyes — Stiles' too. Both of them seemed convinced that as soon as something bad was happening, Derek had to be involved. He was pretty certain that he was always at the top of their list of suspects when they needed someone to blame. He didn't know what he had done to deserve that, but perhaps that was part of his punishment too, so he let them.

It wasn't like it mattered in the end.

He was sick of it, though. He was sick of so many things. He was sick of trying when all he got was contempt and rudeness in return. He was sick of knowing that a part of that was his own fault — for being unapproachable and harsh. He was sick of feeling like he should have died instead of Laura — surely things would have worked out better that way. He was sick of his family being dead and the guilt that was always burning within him, alongside the anger and hate — all of it directed at himself. He was sick of never once catching a break.

But he still kept going. There wasn't much else to do; giving up wasn't an option.

At least he could count on the newly arrived hunters to provide a much needed distraction. He knew they were a threat, but he dismissed it as manageable as long as they all kept their heads down. That shouldn't have been too hard considering that everyone had learned to control their wolves by then, even on full moons.

Apparently, Derek was far too careless, but it was always easier to be wiser in hindsight. Derek wanted to blame what happened at least partially on Stiles, since he was so distracting, but that would have been mean.

Stiles was one of those who suffered the most.

So, in the end, Derek did what he always did — he blamed himself.

The introduction of a new threat meant that Scott was suddenly much more eager to talk — as was always the case whenever he needed help with something. Stiles came along like an expected but bitter aftertaste; a necessary evil to Scott's infuriatingly innocent yet appreciated existence.

Scott wanted to know what was to be done about the hunters, while Derek was of the opinion that just letting them be might actually be their wisest plan of action — especially since he knew that Scott would be against killing them. Saying so didn't seem to penetrate Scott's thick skull, however, and he kept asking Derek for answers he had already given, all while Stiles watched in amusement.

It didn't take long before Stiles was dragged into the conversation, and that was the starting point for a new chapter in their relationship.

At first, Derek couldn't pinpoint what was different — Stiles was still annoying, infuriating, and far too insightful — but something was definitely not like it used to be. Something seemed to _burn_ under the surface whenever they spoke with their harsh words and thinly veiled insults. That something kept hovering in the air between them, creating a tension Derek hadn't experienced before.

He could almost smell it.

Stiles kept looking at him, his brown eyes full of the same condescension and defiance as always, but it couldn't quite hide that other thing — the one Derek couldn't name. Stiles seemed to be waiting for something. His eyes kept saying things Derek didn't understand and, judging by Stiles' poorly faked nonchalance, he was growing more and more impatient.

But Derek still didn't know what Stiles was trying to tell him. He just knew that the more he thought about it — days after he had first noticed the tension — the more Derek wanted it.

Stiles had always been a bit of a puzzle, full of contradictions and surprises, and whatever this was, it seemed to be exclusively meant for Derek. That was something Derek hadn't experienced in a long time and he craved the attention more than he was willing to admit. He shouldn't care — Stiles was nothing to him.

But Derek _did_ care, and Stiles wasn't nothing.

Stiles was loud and exciting, always so loyal and _fierce_. Derek was greedy enough to want a piece of that, however small it might be.

That was why he allowed Scott to continue to drop by during the week that followed. Derek didn't care about the hunters — they were just patrolling the woods, searching for werewolves that weren't there — but if Scott came, then so did Stiles. Derek wanted to see Stiles.

He wanted to figure out what that thing that he suddenly felt between them was.

So he let Stiles linger a little closer than usual whenever he and Scott came by the loft. Derek kept observing him, calmly and quietly, trying to work out what was different now, as opposed to every other time they had seen each other. Stiles usually returned the scrutiny with an amused look that might have _seemed_ confident, but Derek could hear on Stiles' heartbeat — which was more uneven than usual — that he was nervous.

It was quite intriguing.

Eventually, Stiles couldn't handle the silences, though, which came as no surprise. Derek actually welcomed it when Stiles started to initiate conversations with him. Partly because they usually weren't about the hunters — which was the only thing Scott seemed able to talk about — and partly because Stiles was actually quite interesting once you got to know him. Frustrating, yes, but interesting.

Their most memorable conversation took place when Scott had come over to report that the hunters were looking for clues around town — as if that was somehow vital information. As long as the hunters didn't come knocking on his or one of his betas' doors, Derek wasn't particularly worried. Stiles also seemed to have lost interest in Scott's paranoia, clearly more interested in gravitating towards Derek.

During this specific evening, Scott had to step outside halfway through his usual rant about needing to protect the town when he got a phone call from his mom.

Stiles stayed with Derek.

"You really don't think the hunters are dangerous?" Stiles asked, probably only to have a reason to start a conversation. Derek found that he was much more patient with Stiles than he ever was with Scott. That was a strange change too — it was usually the opposite.

"No, I know they're dangerous," Derek replied. "I just think that we can avoid confrontation."

Stiles tilted his head to the side, perched on the armrest of Derek's couch like a gangly, wide-eyed bird. It was almost cute.

"That's very unlike you," Stiles pointed out.

Derek looked up from the book he was trying to read — first interrupted by Scott, then Stiles — and raised an eyebrow. "I don't always want to kill things, Stiles."

Stiles grinned and poked Derek's thigh with his toe. He was doing that more and more often lately — just small, almost unnoticeable, touches. Derek was acutely aware of them all; they were a part of the puzzle, he was sure.

"But you _do_ seem to think that violence is the best solution to everything."

"Not right now I don't," Derek countered.

Stiles smiled.

"I'm just saying — it's nice to see you react in other ways than murderous rage." Stiles slid down from the armrest to sit on the couch next to Derek. Even if there was quite a distance between them Derek felt himself tense, just a little.

There was that feeling again. It seemed to crackle in the air, and when he looked at Stiles he could have sworn that he saw a challenging glint in those brown eyes of his.

Derek was never one to ignore a challenge.

"Scott is the unreasonable one this time." Derek still had his book open in his hand but he wasn't the least bit interested in reading it.

"Ugh. Tell me about it." Stiles rolled his eyes. "He seems certain that the hunters will cause trouble somehow, but I might actually be on your side this time." A mischievous grin spread on Stiles' lips. "Shocking, I know. It seems that we might actually be able to agree on something after all. Who would have thought?"

Derek felt something swell inside his chest and it took him a second to realize that it was _pride_. He liked the idea of Stiles being on his side.

"A historical moment," Derek deadpanned, his own lips twitching towards a smile when Stiles laughed.

"I just think that Scott worries too much, you know?" Stiles continued, staring into the middle distance. "I get that hunters is bad news, but it doesn't _have_ to result in bloodshed, right? Sometimes I think that... maybe, becoming a werewolf made him a little too heroic." Stiles sank lower on the couch and gave Derek a thoughtful look. "Does that make sense?"

Derek shrugged softly. He didn't want to say yes or no, but could admit that Stiles seemed to be on to something. They both knew that Scott wanted what was best for everyone, but he often saw trouble and conflict where there was none.

"Hyper vigilance," Derek said after a brief pause.

Stiles scoffed. "Yeah, I'm familiar with the term."

Stiles sounded frustrated but Derek chose not to ask why. He wasn't used to having normal conversations with people — even less so when it involved listening to their troubles.

A silence settled between them and Derek was surprised by his own reluctance to see it continue. He just couldn't figure out what to say to break it.

Stiles had no such problems, it seemed.

"I kinda miss how things were before," Stiles mumbled, almost as if talking to himself.

Derek felt a twinge. He could only guess that Stiles meant before Scott got bitten — before they got dragged into this mess and Derek along with it.

Before Stiles knew Derek.

"You remember that time you tried to make me saw your arm off?" Stiles grinned towards Derek, his hands moving as he spoke. "That was awesome! Or, well, not awesome, of course, because blood and dismemberment really isn't my thing, but I kind of miss that."

"You miss almost sawing my arm off?" Derek couldn't help sounding amused.

"No, you idiot." Stiles gave Derek a highly ineffective push that was probably meant to show his indignation. He was still grinning, though. "I miss the time when it was that simple — us against a clear enemy."

Derek's breath caught. He didn't know that Stiles counted Derek as one of them. Usually, both Stiles and Scott seemed to go out of their way to exclude Derek and work against him. It felt nice to know that things might have changed.

"I'm still not sorry for slamming your head against the steering wheel," Derek said instead, to cover up the fact that he was beginning to feel a little flustered.

"I figured you wouldn't be," Stiles replied. "And I might have deserved it... a little."

Derek raised an eyebrow. "Only a little?"

"I was being resourceful!" Stiles defended. "It helped, didn't it? Danny gave us what we needed!"

"Just don't do it again," Derek warned.

"Oh please. You whip your shirt off all the time. I just thought of a way to use it productively."

Derek thumped his book against Stiles' forehead as punishment. Stiles flailed in surprise and Derek held the book out of Stiles' reach to keep him from snatching it away. For a second it seemed like Stiles might lunge for it anyway, but eventually chose not to. Instead he settled back against the cushions with a huff, his arms crossed petulantly over his chest.

It was, quite frankly, adorable.

Luckily, Stiles didn't sulk for long. After a soft sigh he tilted his head back and gazed up at the ceiling. Derek found that he might be staring a tad bit excessively at Stiles' throat. He couldn't help it when it was _right there_ — pale, completely bared, and with those small moles dotting the skin.

Derek wondered what kissing Stiles' moles would taste like.

"We've been through some pretty freaky stuff, haven't we?"

Derek almost flinched at Stiles' calmly spoken question — had he been any less collected he might have fumbled with the book in his hands. This time he merely swallowed and tried to meet Stiles' gaze without feeling like a complete creep.

"I guess," he answered vaguely.

"Come on. Murderous alpha, murderous Argents, murderous kanima, murderous Argents take two. That's some track record." Stiles didn't seem as bothered by the list of threats as normal people would be, though. "I've pretty much lost count of how many times I've almost died. Peter made a couple of attempts — even Scott got pretty close there at the beginning — and then there was the kanima, of course, with the pool and all that, and Gerard and— yeah..."

Stiles trailed off, his expression showing that perhaps he was pretty bothered after all.

Derek cleared his throat. "Thank you," he said, softer than he had intended.

Stiles blinked once before his head snapped up, looking at Derek in surprise.

"What was that?" Stiles looked like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"For what you did at the pool," Derek clarified, but he might have been staring at Stiles' hands rather than his face.

Stiles remained in shocked silence for a moment before he smiled and patted Derek's forearm.

"No worries, big guy. You technically saved me first — or tried to, at least — when you got paralyzed. I couldn't exactly leave you there at the bottom of the pool."

But Stiles could have — Stiles had had no reason to dive in after Derek and keep him afloat for two hours. He still had. Derek hadn't said thank you at the time, but Stiles deserved to know how grateful Derek was.

Derek didn't know how to reply, especially not when he noticed that Stiles hadn't moved his hand. It was still resting against Derek's arm and neither of them gave any indication that they thought it would be wise to remove it. Derek felt warmth stir in his chest and when he met Stiles' gaze he could feel it again — that annoying, frustrating, wonderful tension.

Derek could almost taste it.

A part of Derek wanted to ask Stiles what it all meant, but he never got the chance to — not when he could hear Scott heading back up the stairs. So instead Derek averted his gaze and opened his book again, ignoring the confused look on Stiles' face. His expression changed to understanding the moment Scott came barging into the loft, and just like that the spell was broken.

Stiles pulled his hand back and they acted as if nothing had happened. Derek knew that something had, though, even if he couldn't say what.

What he did know was that he wasn't going to let this go — he was going to find out what all of this was about.

What Derek hadn't expected was that there were several other things he noticed in his attempt to unravel the mystery of his and Stiles' changing relationship. The more Derek stared — because there really was no other word for it — the more he picked up on.

Stiles' hair was longer. Derek hadn't registered that at first since he had no reason to care about how Stiles kept his hair — or pay attention to any changes made to it — but now he noticed. Stiles' hair was longer and looked incredibly soft, if a little unruly.

Derek liked it.

Stiles looked older, too. Perhaps it was the stress of almost dying all the time or perhaps he was just growing up. Either way, he seemed less boyish than before, his features a little firmer — more mature. Derek admittedly liked that too, but never allowed the thought to fully form.

It made him a little uneasy to think about it.

Stiles' body language had grown a little calmer as well, more secure and confident — at least during brief moments. There were still the flails and waving hands, but it became increasingly clear that Stiles was slowly but surely growing into his own skin. The change was unsettling to watch, because Derek knew that what had begun to stir in his gut wasn't despise or exasperation — it was attraction. He was attracted to Stiles.

_That_ was what this was all about.

The revelation threw Derek for a loop for several days.

He just couldn't wrap his head around it — how he could go from hating the spastic teenager to being attracted to him. The issue wasn't even that Stiles was a guy — even if that came as a slight surprise and something Derek hadn't really considered before — it was that Stiles was, well, _Stiles_.

Derek couldn't understand why he had to go for _Stiles_ of all people.

But, when he started thinking about it, Derek realized that the reasons were pretty obvious. Stiles was the only one who registered as more than a small blip on Derek's radar — even Scott paled in comparison sometimes, simply because Stiles shone so brightly.

It had to be Stiles.

It made perfect sense. Stiles was the one who challenged him, pushed him, annoyed him, intrigued him, and made sure that Derek was never unaffected. It was impossible to ignore or forget Stiles, so _of course_ it had to be him.

And, just like that, Derek realized that what was burning between them was _mutual_ attraction.

The looks, the conversations, and the wonderful, distracting touches were all a part of it. Stiles was trying to nudge Derek into responding somehow, testing the limits. And he was obviously fully aware of the fact that he was doing it, too. Stiles had caught on before Derek had, but that didn't come as any major surprise — Stiles had always been the more attentive one.

As soon as Derek understood what was growing between him and Stiles, the tension increased tenfold.

Suddenly, Derek knew what those looks meant. Stiles was waiting — watching — and his gazes were heavy enough to send shivers down Derek's spine. And having Stiles close, brushing against the outer edges of his personal space, made Derek feel tense and all too aware of the distance between them. More than anything, he wanted to erase it.

Luckily, Stiles kept moving closer. His words grew bolder, until Derek couldn't help but reply in kind, and as Stiles slowly wormed his way under Derek's skin, he made no attempt to stop him. Derek didn't want to; he enjoyed it far too much.

Even so, they never spoke openly about what was going on between them. They just kept toeing the line, daring the other to act first.

Derek knew that he was being reckless — foolish, even. Stiles was a human teenager, the sheriff's son, no less, _and_ a liability in that his loyalty always lay with Scott first. Derek couldn't trust him. But that didn't mean that he couldn't also want him.

He most certainly wanted Stiles.

What had only been brief flashes of attraction at first had now morphed into rather overwhelming desire.

Stiles' insistence to keep pushing made Derek take notice, and when he took notice he saw very little else. Stiles was, in lack of a better word, brilliant. Derek couldn't look away — he didn't _want_ to look away. All the new nuances, the maturity and confidence Stiles suddenly held, was more appealing than Derek had thought they would be.

And those eyes. God, those eyes.

In them Derek could see everything he was feeling reflected back at him; hesitation, yearning, frustration, need, and — shining brightest of all — silent, unyielding hope. All those emotions were bound to boil over soon and Derek found himself bracing for it, but not out of fear or caution. No, he wanted it to happen. He couldn't wait for the tension between him and Stiles to finally reach its conclusion.

Derek was so wrapped up in this new development with Stiles that he didn't see anything else — not until it was already too late. It was just so thrilling for him to find something that he could hold on to like this — something that was only his, unsullied by his past and repeated failures. Stiles didn't know all of Derek's secrets but he knew enough that it should have sent him running in the other direction, but it didn't. Stiles stayed.

Stiles always stayed.

Derek didn't allow himself to wallow too much. He knew that he would start to question everything if he did. He didn't deserve whatever Stiles was offering, but he didn't want to be reminded of that. Derek wanted to live in blissful ignorance, if only for a little while, and pretend that he could have things like these. Normal things.

He should have known better.

_Of course_ Scott didn't listen to Derek's suggestion to let the hunters be. _Of course_ Scott had to get too close and alert them that there were, in fact, several werewolves in Beacon Hills, even if they weren't violent. The hunters saw no difference. And _of course_ Scott called Derek one evening when the situation went from bad to worse — like he always did.

Apparently, Scott and Stiles had been shadowing the hunters, trying to figure out what they were up to, and had fled into the woods when they had been discovered. Now they needed someone to pick them up and Derek had the fastest car.

Derek rolled his eyes and grabbed his jacket, already heading for the door. His lack of objections might be considered a weakness of his, but he didn't have it in him to deny a blatant plea for help. Call it misguided pack instinct, stupidity, or whatever else might seem suitable — he still went to help.

Derek wasn't going to lie — had it only been Scott in need he might have refused. Derek wasn't a chauffeur to be called on when needed. But then Scott had mentioned Stiles, and while Scott might survive an encounter with a group of hunters, Stiles could easily get caught in the crossfire. Stiles was painfully human and Derek's heart clenched at the thought of what could happen if he left them out there.

Besides, it wasn't like he had anything better to do that evening.

So he drove to the location Scott had given — some old factory building at the edge of the woods — and looked out through the windshield. Scott should have heard the Camaro approach, but Derek didn't see any signs of either of the two teenage boys. Derek sighed and climbed out of the car, allowing the surrounding scents to wash over him. Scott and Stiles hadn't arrived yet judging by what he smelled, but his ears could pick up on movement amongst the trees — and shouts. Considering the number of voices, Stiles and Scott were most likely being chased by the hunters.

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep, calming breath. Just perfect.

He took off towards the woods without really considering what other options he had — if any at all — his senses focused on pinpointing where Scott and Stiles were. It didn't take long. Stiles was making enough noise for three people as he stumbled his way through the undergrowth, tossing curses and sarcastic snarls in Scott's direction. Derek couldn't quite make out the words, but he could guess that the nightly spying had been Scott's brilliant idea, just from hearing the contempt in Stiles' voice.

Derek fought a smile; it was always a lot more fun when Stiles' annoyance was directed at someone else.

Derek counted four hunters — maybe five — but it was difficult to tell on their footsteps alone. He wasn't going to get close enough to confirm it, though. Hunters usually had guns and that never boded well, not with Stiles in the mix, who couldn't heal from a bullet wound as easily as Scott and Derek did. He was just going to find Scott and Stiles and lead them back to the car.

He couldn't have been running for much more than two minutes, guided by both hearing and smell, when he eventually caught sight of them. Derek tried to deny that the anxious knot in his chest eased when he noticed that both Scott and Stiles looked unharmed. Derek slowed to a halt, waiting for them to reach him instead.

"Derek!" Scott shouted, relief evident in his voice.

"Not so loud!" Stiles hissed, throwing an urgent look over his shoulder. With right — the hunters were so close that Derek could smell the gun oil and metal from their rifles.

"I'm _so_ sorry I had to call—" Scott began, but Derek interrupted without a hint of remorse.

"Talk later. Come on."

Derek barely even realized that he placed his hand on Stiles' shoulder — as if it was normal for him to do so — or that it soon slid down to the middle of Stiles' back, urging him to keep moving. He did notice how Stiles stumbled, though, and that his already uneven heartbeat made a strange little skip that Derek had never heard before. Scott looked worried but Stiles waved it off after a quick glance in Derek's direction.

The glance said that Stiles' stumble hadn't been caused by the uneven ground.

Derek shoved that knowledge and whatever reactions it caused to the side. Now was not the time to start exploring that particular aspect of his and Stiles' relationship. He gave Stiles another push — too soft to really be called a push, in all honesty — and they started moving again. Scott was already a couple of steps ahead. And if Derek happened to be reveling in how he could still feel Stiles' warmth against his palm, well, he certainly didn't tell anyone.

Derek didn't bother looking back — he could hear the hunters closing in — but it was dark amongst the trees and they weren't far from his car. They should be able to make it.

The old factory soon came within view and Derek felt a small jolt of relief. The Camaro was parked where Derek had left it — unfortunately out in the open without obstructing buildings. Scott was already halfway there.

That was when the first bullet whistled past them.

Stiles cursed and turned as if to look over his shoulder but Derek forced him to keep going instead, the relief turning into worry. Stiles' curiosity was going to be the death of him one day.

"Get to the car," Derek barked without giving Stiles enough time to protest.

To his immense surprise, Stiles obeyed, but that might have been because two more shots rang out and put some urgency into their steps. Derek was glad that he hadn't thought to lock the car since Scott was already diving into the backseat, saving them precious seconds. Derek wasn't sure how close the hunters were, but even one stray bullet could turn fatal if they didn't watch out.

A second later he was proven far too right.

He didn't even realize that he had been hit until the force of the bullet made him stumble, knocking the breath out of him as is buried into his back. Derek caught himself on the open passenger side door, bumping into Stiles, who was just about to climb into the car.

"Stop pushing!" Stiles snapped, clearly not aware of _why_ Derek had tripped.

That was probably for the best.

Derek gritted his teeth against the pain, refusing to move. If another shot came, Stiles could get hit. So he remained where he was, waiting for Stiles to scramble into the passenger seat under muttered curses.

Derek faltered when he tried to breathe, choking from the effort — the bullet must have hit one of his lungs. He swallowed harshly and slammed the car door shut once he was certain that Stiles had gotten inside.

"Keep your heads down," he growled. His words were founded in genuine concern for Scott and Stiles' safety but the pain made them sharp and angry.

Derek felt dizzy and his feet barely obeyed him as he hurried round the car, heading for the driver's side.

It shouldn't feel this bad. He shouldn't be this affected by a simple bullet.

His hands trembled when he yanked open the door and he practically fell into the driver's seat, biting back a hiss of pain. He didn't allow himself to hesitate, turning the ignition and getting the car into gear. The Camaro roared to life.

The passenger side window shattered but Stiles was for once doing as he was told, ducking low in his seat. Scott shouted something from the backseat but it sounded garbled and muted in Derek's ears. He could practically feel the bullet grate against one of his ribs, pulsing menacingly.

The shot had hit Derek harder than it should have.

That could only mean one thing — there was only one type of bullet that could cause something like this — but Derek didn't allow himself to hesitate. Not yet. He needed to focus on getting them out of there, no matter what might happen to him.

Derek tuned out everything but his driving, tires screeching against the asphalt. Stiles and Scott were talking but he didn't listen — he couldn't. Derek had to keep his eyes on the road, but it didn't take long before his sight started getting hazy.

He needed to get to Deaton's. The wolfsbane was spreading fast and if the bullet had hit close enough to his heart to puncture a lung, he didn't have long.

The pain was intense but manageable. What worried him the most was that he felt it so strongly, so soon. Then again, he wasn't shot in the arm this time. Derek could smell the metallic tang of blood in the enclosed space of the car and knew that Scott probably did as well. If Scott said anything about it, Derek didn't hear it — he had to focus on getting to the animal clinic. Deaton might be able to help.

Unless it was already too late.

Derek pushed the thought aside and tried to calm his breathing. He was pretty certain that the car was beginning to sway across the road, however, and his foot felt a little too heavy on the gas pedal.

Something landed on his arm. Derek looked to his right, realizing that it was Stiles' hand. Stiles was frowning, looking worried, and Derek could still hear the slight elevation to Stiles' heartbeat.

"—rek! What's wrong?"

Derek gritted his teeth and tried to blink away the dark spots dancing across his field of vision. His eyes had to be flashing red.

He was losing control.

"Shit! Were you hit?" Stiles seemed inches away from climbing over the gearshift, as if that would help somehow. His grip on Derek's arm tightened. "Pull over! You're going to crash the car!"

Stiles had a point.

Derek gathered enough strength to step on the breaks — perhaps a little too harshly. Stiles yelped and Scott slammed into the seats in front of him, but Derek didn't have the presence of mind to feel guilty. He could barely breathe and a chill was beginning to spread through his body. The sensation wasn't at all like having wolfsbane burning through his veins, and that worried him.

He was moving into another stage of the poisoning.

Derek fumbled with the handle, eventually managing to push open the door, and tumbled out of the car in an undignified heap. He was in no shape to drive. Someone else had to do it.

He thought he heard shouts, but it wasn't until he felt a hand on his back that he realized that Stiles and Scott had climbed out of the Camaro as well.

"Shit! You're bleeding!" Stiles hissed. "Why didn't you say anything? Where did they get you?"

Derek didn't bother to reply — the answer was obvious what with the blood staining Stiles' fingers and the hole in Derek's back. Stiles was staring at the blood with wide, frightened eyes while Scott grabbed Derek and pulled him to his feet. Derek stumbled but allowed himself to grab Scott's shoulder for support.

"It's wolfsbane. We need to go to Deaton's." Scott's voice was terse, with an edge of command when he spoke next. "Help me get him back inside the car."

Stiles instantly snapped back to attention and hurried to obey. Stiles' hands shook when he placed one of them against Derek's chest, trying to keep him upright. Derek wanted to say something but he couldn't think of what. There wasn't much to say — he couldn't find the words.

They managed three steps before Derek was unable hold back the blood rising in his throat, his coughs sending it splattering against the asphalt, black and glistening in the stark glare of the Camaro's headlights. A tremble went through him and he collapsed despite Stiles' alarmed shout and Scott's continued tries to keep him on his feet.

Once he hit the ground, Derek knew that he wasn't getting up again — never again.

The bullet had hit too close to his heart.

Derek could barely feel the cold road against his back, not with the chill that was spreading inside him. He gasped for breath, a blurry shape appearing above him.

It was Stiles, he realized a moment later.

"Derek! Come on, don't do this. Get up. We need to get you back inside the car." Stiles' voice was trembling as much as his hands. He pulled on Derek's collar, as if that alone would make him move. "It's not so bad. You've had worse." Stiles' breath hitched. "You'll manage."

Derek could see the fear in Stiles' eyes, but most of all there was denial. Scott hovered nearby but his expression was grimmer — no less devastated, but with an undercurrent of acceptance.

Scott knew that it was too late.

"Derek! Don't do this. Not now. Get up," Stiles ordered. "Get up! You always get up!" Stiles was tugging ineffectively at Derek's clothes and even if Derek wanted to obey, he couldn't. He could barely feel his legs. "Come on. Don't— you need to get up!"

Stiles flinched away from the hand Scott tried to place on his shoulder. "NO! Stop it! Help me get him up instead!"

"Stiles, it's too la—" Scott began, but Stiles clearly wasn't listening.

"Get up, Derek. GET UP!" Stiles placed his hands on each side of Derek's face, as if he wanted nothing more than to shake life back into him. "You can't do this, Derek. Not now. You just can't. I won't let you." Stiles' words were wavering. "You c-can't. Get up."

Derek took a slow, trembling breath and managed to raise his hand high enough to grab one of Stiles' wrists. It was a weak grip, barely there, but it was still enough to make Stiles stiffen. Their gazes met and Derek could _see_ the moment Stiles realized that Derek truly was dying and that there was nothing they could do about it. He could see it in Stiles' eyes, how everything just shut down and his face became blank and unresponsive — as if someone had flipped a switch.

The emptiness was creepier than the panicked, helpless rambling had been.

Derek swallowed down as much of the blood as he could, but some dribbled out of the corner of his mouth all the same. Stiles was staring at his face, unseeing, while Scott was finally allowed to place a hand on Stiles' shoulder. Stiles didn't even react, and that hurt more than Derek thought it would.

Stiles was completely motionless and silent — like he wasn't there anymore. Like he couldn't handle what was happening. Derek assumed it was shock.

An ache that had nothing to do with the bullet wound spread in Derek's chest. He and Stiles had been so close — if only they'd had the time to get that one final push. But now it would never happen. Derek would never get to see what it would be like to act on their mutual attraction. How much different his life could be if he actually allowed himself to have someone — to care for someone like that again. He had never thought that he would after Kate's betrayal.

And now he would never know.

Derek's eyelids fluttered closed and it was only Stiles' choked sob that made him open them again. He couldn't keep that up forever, though. The cold was spreading — swiftly — and he knew he wouldn't be able to speak, no matter how much he might want to. This was all happening too quickly and Derek wasn't sure if he was grateful for it or upset. He barely felt any pain by then, and it was probably just a matter of seconds before he would be gone.

Stiles shook his head, his eyes filled with tears. Derek wanted to say that he was sorry — he could tell how much this hurt Stiles — but it only came out as a thick groan of pain.

"Please... please don't. Please don't die." Stiles' thumb brushed against Derek's cheekbone. The action was full of desperation but Derek still found comfort in it. "Don't do this. P-please... please don't do this. You can't die!" Stiles swallowed. "I can't do this. Not again. I can't watch someone else I lov— I can't watch you die."

Derek squeezed Stiles' wrist — or tried to, at least — offering what little reassurance he could. It wasn't much. They would lose their chance to explore what was between them. Derek could see the regret on Stiles' face — see the agony of knowing that everything was slipping through their fingers.

Derek felt numb — not even the anger was left. He was losing it all.

He was dying.

"Don't die. I don't want you to die. Please..." Stiles whispered. He didn't sound hysterical anymore, but the words were no less heartbreaking. His voice was nothing more than a cracked, desperate plea, trembling with barely contained sobs. Stiles gripped Derek as if he would be able to keep him alive just through that — through sheer willpower and the strength of his fingers. As if Derek wouldn't be able to slip through them, if Stiles just held on firmly enough.

"Derek, please..."

Derek's only reply was a choked gasp. That was all he could manage with so much blood filling his mouth.

He could feel his grip around Stiles' wrist slip, his body going lax and unresponsive. Stiles whimpered before he surged forward, pressing their lips together despite the blood covering Derek's. It wasn't a tender kiss, or a particularly nice one, but it was the only one Derek was going to get — he knew that. A kiss full of desperation, grief, and regret.

That seemed fitting, somehow.

He closed his eyes, and while he thought that he heard more muttered pleas for him not to die, the last thing he remembered — the one thing he made sure to cling to as he drew his last breath — was the feel of Stiles' lips against his own.

Then everything went black.

 


	2. Purgatory

 

* * *

 

For a brief, blissful moment Derek thought he hadn't died. When he first showed up in Purgatory, surrounded by trees at least vaguely similar to those in Beacon Hills, his first thought was that he had somehow survived the bullet and had been left in the woods to heal and recover. But then he remembered that he had died in the middle of the road, not in the woods, and that neither Stiles nor Scott would leave him out there if he needed help.

No, he was dead. He was in Purgatory.

That didn't exactly come as a shock — his parents had told him about Purgatory as he grew up — but it was still not quite what he had imagined. The place felt dull and oppressive, washed of colors, and smelled like something Derek couldn't name; something sharp and biting. Almost like decay, only not quite as overpowering — though no less unsettling.

He didn't like it.

But, then again, he probably wasn't supposed to.

Purgatory, his mother had explained, was where they went when they died. Derek hadn't been too well-versed in other traditions but their own at that age but he had heard about Heaven. He had asked her why he couldn't go to Heaven and she had replied that it wasn't for them. Creatures like them had a special place they went to. She had attempted to make it sound less scary than it was — less like a punishment — but Derek finally understood the pained look he had seen on her face when they talked about it.

She hadn't wanted this for him. Purgatory wasn't a nice place.

Derek made himself at home quickly enough — as much as one could in a monster-infested, free-for-all cage match. His mother had somehow failed to mention that _all_ creatures would gather in Purgatory, and that some of them were hostile.

The majority of them were, actually.

That didn't bother Derek to any major degree, however. He actually found it somewhat cathartic, once he had gotten over his initial surprise when the first person he ran into tried to eviscerate him. He was still an alpha and, as such, he was strong enough to take on most of the creatures attacking him. The fighting gave him something to do, even if he preferred silence and solitude. Nothing had changed in that department.

He tried not to think too much. Not of Stiles, Scott, his betas, or anything else he had left behind. It hurt too much. A part of him even wanted to rid himself of the memories from his last moments alive since those were particularly difficult to ignore.

If he closed his eyes he could almost remember what it had felt like to have Stiles' lips against his own. It was masochistic to say the least, since he would never have that again. It would be better to forget about the kiss, but he found that he couldn't.

He didn't allow himself to speculate on his family, either. They should be in Purgatory with him, but for all he knew Purgatory was endless and trying to find them would probably prove to be more or less impossible. Besides, after what he had done he didn't deserve to find them. He had been the cause of their deaths.

Suffering through the afterlife on his own seemed like a suitable punishment.

So he kept to himself, wandering around aimlessly. There wasn't much else to do in Purgatory, and while the by then familiar anger flared every now and then — he would probably always carry it with him — a strange kind of calm soon settled over him.

Time passed differently in Purgatory and Derek had no idea if he had been dead for weeks, months, or perhaps even years. All he knew was that he kept trudging through the same monotonous landscape day in and day out, occasionally stumbling over other monsters. Some tried to fight him, some fled. He never lost and never showed mercy — he saw no reason to — but he never chased those fleeing, either. He wasn't that eager for their blood.

No matter how much time had passed he still found it difficult to accept his own death.

There was a nagging voice at the back of his head, frighteningly reminiscent of Stiles, that kept reminding him of what he had lost. He just couldn't let that go. He tried to, because he knew that this was how he would spend the rest of his days — however many that might be — and there was nothing he could do about that. But no matter how much he tried, that small seed of hope lingered.

The sliver of longing and yearning never went away.

It was only later that Derek realized that those emotions had been the only thing keeping him afloat. He could easily have succumbed to the ways of Purgatory — or his own wolf, for that matter — if he hadn't had that vague hope that he could find a way out somehow. That he could return back to Beacon Hills.

He knew there were ways.

Since he came from a family of born werewolves he was privy to certain things that turned creatures weren't. His parents had told him stories about loopholes and secret doors — heck, his uncle had used one of them to come back to life — and Derek might subconsciously have been searching for them while he wandered through Purgatory.

That didn't mean that he felt relief or even elation when he eventually found the portal leading back to the land of the living. It was useless to him. He was a werewolf — he couldn't pass — but he filed it away for later and memorized the location all the same.

It couldn't hurt, he told himself.

Derek almost forgot about it entirely until whispers started spreading — terrified rumors about something having landed in their midst. Someone was tearing through the dreary woods of Purgatory, faster and more ruthless than they, the monsters, could ever hope to be.

Someone was there with them — someone who didn't belong.

Derek had noticed the Leviathans' return and was wise enough to keep out of their way. He had also felt a strange jolt he later assumed was the arrival of the angel. But what interested him was neither of those. They were of no importance to him.

No, he needed the human — the only one who could step through the portal and take him back to the real world.

He needed Dean Winchester.

Derek had been aware of hunters his entire life. His family had always taken great care to avoid them — which only made the events with Kate all the more humiliating — and there were certain names that surfaced more often than others when warnings of hunter parties spread through the networks of supernatural creatures. Argent was one of them, especially for werewolves, but Winchester might just be the biggest of them all — at least in recent years.

Being a werewolf wasn't so bad. They were considered rare, mostly because the hunters couldn't seem to pinpoint how to identify or kill them. That meant that well-adjusted packs like Derek's family passed unnoticed until someone who knew what they were doing found them — someone like Kate Argent.

The Winchesters weren't like that. Where Kate had been a precise, well-aimed strike right where it hurt, the Winchesters were rumored to be more like anvils; crude, brutal, and severely lacking in grace, but unstoppable all the same. Derek took care to stay well under the Winchesters' radar, just to be on the safe side. Dealing with the Argents was bad enough.

Derek wasn't sure if he believed even half of what was being said about the Winchester brothers, but he knew better than to underestimate them. Just the fact that one of the brothers had somehow found his way to Purgatory said quite a lot about what they were capable of. That kind of breach couldn't be a common occurrence. Derek decided to simply assume that most of the stories were true, if only because it gave him an idea of how ruthless they could be.

Chris Argent was kind in comparison.

Due to this, Derek wasn't the least bit ashamed of the hesitation and caution he felt when he set out to find Dean Winchester. The man might just cut Derek's head off before he had time to explain that there was a way out — for the both of them.

The voice at the back of Derek's head was singing from joy and expectation, hope blooming in his chest. This would be a hard road to travel, but he might be able to get back. He might be able to find Stiles and apologize for dying, and perhaps they could pick up where they had left off. Derek wasn't going to assume anything, but he couldn't deny that he had tentative hopes for the future. Derek wasn't eloquent or particularly open with his affections, but he knew what he wanted. He wanted Stiles — in whichever way Stiles would let Derek have him, really.

Derek missed him.

Some nights it hit him like a sledgehammer — the longing. The grief. He missed hearing Stiles' voice. He missed the way Stiles gestured when he spoke and the way he could express sarcasm with nothing but a roll of his eyes. Stiles had perfected that into an art. Derek clung to what he could remember about Stiles, not wanting to forget his ridiculously big eyes, the pattern of his moles, or the way he laughed. Derek missed it all — he missed Stiles — and the time spent in Purgatory only made it easier to admit it.

Derek wasn't weaker — quite the opposite, really, considering the rigorous training he was put through fighting other monsters — but he had started to realize what really mattered. The isolation made him yearn for all those people he had involuntarily left behind. He might even have started to understand where he had gone wrong when it came to being an alpha.

In Purgatory everyone fought as if no one else could be trusted, relying only on their own strength in fear of losing what little power they had left. They were all like Derek — and they all failed like Derek.

Trust was the key.

Betas can't trust an alpha who can't trust them in return.

It was too late to change the past, but perhaps Derek could make amends if he managed to get back. His betas had no reason to forgive him, but he could at least try to show that he had understood how badly he had mistreated them — that he knew better now. They deserved that much.

Derek was so focused on his pursuit of salvation that he barely considered the possible repercussions of what he was trying to do — the rules he was breaking and how selfish he was being. He had died once already and he might not be entitled to a second chance just because he had left someone behind. That happened to most people who died.

He still longed for that second chance and sought it with a single-minded focus.

At least until Laura found him.

Derek had gotten used to tensing at the slightest noise, like most residents of Purgatory. Noise usually meant someone potentially there to kill him, since there were no animals or birds in Purgatory, only monsters. That was why it took him a couple of seconds to realize who the woman before him was, and why she wasn't attacking — why she was only staring at him with wide, surprised eyes.

"Derek?" The sound of her voice felt like a punch in the gut.

He couldn't believe she had only been dead for a year — it felt like an eternity.

Well, it was probably more than a year now since he didn't know how long he had spent in Purgatory himself, but at his time of dying she hadn't been dead for more than a year.

"Derek, I— I thought I smelled you but I couldn't be sure and I thought..." She took a hesitant step towards him, as if she couldn't quite believe that this was happening.

Derek was frozen in place.

He had almost forgotten what she looked like. The general features had been there but the small nuances — like the curve of her lips and shape of her nose — had blurred over the year she had been gone. Until now. He could only stare at her, realigning his memory with the real thing. He had forgotten how beautiful and strong she looked. It was Laura. It was his sister.

Derek didn't know if he actually made a move to encourage her but suddenly she was right there, in his arms, hugging him like she never wanted to let go again. He squeezed hard, burying his face in her hair, desperately smelling the scent he hadn't felt in so many long, cold months. It was tainted by the bite of Purgatory, but otherwise the same. It was Laura. His Laura. She felt smaller than he remembered — or perhaps he was the one who had grown — but it was definitely Laura.

"God, I missed you, Derek," she whispered, running her hand through his hair like he was six years old again, in need of comfort and reassurance from his big sister. Perhaps he was — he felt out of balance and unsure of himself. He hadn't expected to see anyone from his family, especially not when he was preparing to leave Purgatory altogether if he could.

He hadn't thought of them at all.

"I missed you too," he croaked, not ashamed to feel tears burning. It was Laura. Losing her had been a lot harder than he had ever allowed himself to admit, and it all came crashing down on him when he could see her again.

She pulled back and looked him in the eye, her hands framing his face.

"Look at you! You're so big! I'm pretty certain you weren't this big last time I saw you." Her smile was tinged both with delight and sadness. Him being there meant that he had died, after all, and she couldn't be too happy about that. "And... you're an alpha?"

The surprise was evident in her voice and he nodded softly, gently taking her hands in his. Both of them knew that he had never been meant to be an alpha. Not like her.

"I killed Peter."

There was no other way to explain it and Derek could see the sorrow in Laura's eyes. Derek didn't know exactly how Peter had overpowered her, but he could imagine the confusion she must have felt when their own uncle turned on her.

"I guess it was inevitable," she said eventually, no doubt knowing Derek well enough to understand that he wouldn't be able to let her murder pass unpunished. There had been more to it than that when it had eventually gone down, but the core of it had been her murder. Peter deserved to die for what he had done to Laura.

Not that Derek had felt any pleasure when killing Peter. It was just something that had to be done — Peter hadn't been in his right mind. He still wasn't.

Derek squeezed her hands, surprised to find how small they were in his. They were everything but weak, though. Laura was never weak, and it was hard for him to remember that he was stronger now. He was the alpha, not her.

"Peter's not in Purgatory, though. He came back and remains alive, as far as I know," Derek explained.

Laura frowned but nodded eventually, accepting the truth without question. Derek appreciated that — it would have taken hours to explain the events in detail.

"I always hoped that you wouldn't come here so soon..." Laura admitted after a moment of silence.

Derek exhaled slowly. "Neither did I."

Derek hadn't planned to die, after all. He had wanted to stay with Stiles and could immediately feel the familiar tug of longing for the life he had left behind — the one he could still find his way back to, with some luck.

For a brief second, Derek considered telling Laura what he planned to do, but something kept him from it. She probably wouldn't like it. She would want him to stay, with them — with his family. Messing with the rules was never a good thing, they both knew that. But Derek couldn't help wanting it. He missed Stiles.

Not that he didn't miss his family — the two sides were warring against each other, one urging him to stay and the other to take his chances on the portal — but he had already accepted their deaths. He still lived with the guilt and grief, but he had moved on. They were his past. Stiles was his present, perhaps even his future.

He hadn't let go of Stiles yet.

"Come." Laura took his hand, tugging him along. "The others will want to see you too."

Derek stiffened and pulled his hand from her grip. Laura stopped with a confused look on her face.

"Laura, I... I can't." Derek took a step back. He couldn't come with her. He didn't deserve to see his family, not after what he had done to them. He had to find Winchester — he needed to get back to Stiles and his betas. That was where his future lay.

"Derek, you don't—"

"No, Laura, I can't," he repeated, voice firmer — more commanding. Laura must have noticed the difference. Her alpha powers had been stolen before she died — she was only a beta now. Derek was a lot more than that.

Him being an alpha didn't stop Laura from glaring stubbornly at him, however, her hands placed defiantly on her hips.

"Don't go down that road again, Derek. Enough with the self-pity." She gritted her teeth before taking a deep breath, her gaze and posture softening. "I know that you blame yourself."

Derek tried not to flinch but he was pretty certain that she noticed anyway. Laura seemed filled with anguish, possibly on his behalf.

"I can only guess what happened before the fire and why you feel a need to take responsibility for it, but I know for a fact that they don't blame you. Neither do I. You're my little brother, Derek. I miss you. _They_ miss you." Her voice was just shy of pleading, which never failed to make Derek feel guilty. But that didn't change what he needed to do.

"It's not just that, Laura. Please, don't make me come with you. I can't. Not yet." Derek was pretty certain that he hadn't been this open about his emotions in years, at least not out loud.

Derek continued to back away from her, despite the look of hurt on her face. He never wanted to make Laura feel that way, but he just couldn't let this go. Not yet. He had to try.

"I'm not ready. I'm... I'm not done."

"Derek..." She made no move to stop him but her tone was enough to show how much she wanted him to stay. He was breaking her heart. Had she been confident that she could force him she probably would have tried but, as things were right now, he was stronger.

He took a deep breath. "I'll come find you later — all of you. But not yet. I'm not done," he said with as much finality as possible. "I love you, Laura, but I can't come with you. I'll come back later."

It was a promise he intended to keep, even if it might take him years. He would find them again, and perhaps then he would be able to look at them without the guilt churning in his gut. But he couldn't now. He couldn't give them what they wanted. He didn't see them as his family — only victims of his stupidity. They deserved better than that. He missed them something terrible, but he couldn't face them yet.

He wasn't ready.

He gave Laura one last apologetic look before he turned his back on her and walked away. He heard her choke down a sob, but kept walking. He needed to do this. It was selfish and Laura would be so pissed if she ever found out what he was planning, but Derek couldn't help it. Stiles might not want him when he returned, but Derek had to try. He had to apologize to his betas. He wasn't prepared to give up on his life just yet. It might not be the right thing to do, but it was the only option he had.

He needed to get back.

Finding Dean Winchester wasn't nearly as difficult as it could have been, considering the vastness of Purgatory. After a while it was only a matter of following the trail of corpses, and as soon as Derek got close enough to catch the hunter's scent, he knew that he wouldn't lose it again. A human in Purgatory stood out, simple as that. Perhaps that was why so many monsters seemed to be searching for the Winchester — he was the first human they had seen or felt in ages.

There had to be vampires _starving_ for some human blood.

The problem was just that the human was a hunter, trained in killing them. While there were monsters hunting Winchester, he was hunting them in return.

Derek couldn't help wondering if they were the ones trapped in Purgatory with Dean Winchester, not the other way around.

Derek didn't let that deter him and as soon as he was able to pinpoint Winchester's exact location, he started running. He could hear sounds of a struggle and while he didn't doubt that the hunter could take care of himself, he wasn't taking any chances. Not when he was this close.

He needed Winchester alive.

Derek arrived just in time to pull a snarling vampire away from Winchester, and didn't hesitate to dig his claws into its throat. He knew that wouldn't be enough to kill it, but it definitely managed to slow it down. Derek had never taken to the improvised weapons some seemed to prefer, still favoring his claws and teeth, but decapitating a vampire demanded something sharper. Luckily enough for him, it was a small matter of ripping the vampire's own weapon from its hands. One swift sweep later, the vampire's head rolled across the forest floor.

Derek took a slow breath before he straightened and turned to face Winchester, making sure to drop the weapon as he did so. Being armed with something more than his claws and fangs — even if those were hidden at the moment — would only make the situation worse. Derek locked gazes with the hunter, who seemed ready to attack or defend at a moment's notice if necessary, one of the crude, primitive weapons gripped tightly in his hand.

This was nothing like the staring matches Derek usually found himself in.

This man was prepared to kill him if he so much as breathed in the wrong direction and Derek had to admit that Winchester, if anyone, might manage that feat. The look he received was distrustful — hateful, even — and Derek felt a flash of doubt. He had never really considered how he was meant to gain enough of Winchester's trust to enable them to work together. Derek wasn't one to inspire trust, after all. He still had to try.

It was apparent that it was up to Derek to break the silence.

"You're welcome."

As far as conversation starters went, it wasn't the best, but Derek was horrible at social interaction no matter the situation. He would have to make do.

"Can't recall that I asked for help," Winchester shot back.

"You got it all the same. A thank you would be polite," Derek replied without missing a beat.

There was a moment of silence during which Winchester seemed to regard Derek, as if he was trying to figure out what he was up to. Whatever conclusion the hunter reached, he didn't seem prepared to attack without being attacked first. That was a start. The suspicion was still there, as was the tense posture and readiness to retaliate, but Derek only needed a couple of moments to be able to present his plan.

"I would be more grateful if I could be certain that you won't try to kill me the moment I turn my back on you," Winchester responded.

"I won't."

"And I'm just supposed to take your word for that? Because you're such a trustworthy guy, killing one of your own?" There was a wry, condescending smile on the hunter's lips.

"I have more use for you alive than dead," Derek answered truthfully, holding back his frustration. He hadn't spoken to a lot of people since he came to Purgatory, but he was pretty certain that he didn't like this man one bit. "And I'm not a vampire."

"You're one of them all the same. I don't trust your kind."

"You're the one with the oversized butter knife," Derek pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

Derek was terrible at this. To his surprise, Winchester chuckled — without humor or joy — but there was a bitter kind of amusement to it.

"Yeah, well, you're the one with superhuman strength and stamina, buddy."

"I'm also the one who can get you out of here. Out of Purgatory." Derek decided to cut to the chase.

Winchester hesitated, a flicker of something unidentifiable flashing across his face. It was enough to make hope spark in Derek's chest.

It was obvious that while Winchester was relatively fine — especially considering the circumstances — he was only human. They weren't meant to last in Purgatory, no matter if they were legendary hunters or not. The question was only how long Winchester would be able to hold out before he was overpowered. Not the best of plans.

Derek had a much better one.

"That's not possible. There's no way out," Winchester replied.

"There is. And I know how to find it." Derek held Winchester's gaze. "I can show you the way out. But it's not going to come for free."

Winchester's jaw clenched and his grip around the handle of the large knife tightened.

"And what do you want in return?" The hunter's voice was raspy and harsh.

"A ride, to the other side," Derek replied easily. "It's a human portal. I can't pass — but you can."

Derek could see that he had Winchester's reluctant attention. The hunter pointed at Derek with the weapon in his hand, a derisive smile on his lips.

"So I'm your ticket out of here, is that it? Your soul hitching a ride?" Winchester's tone suggested that he thought that was a preposterous idea, but his eyes said something else. "What makes you think I'll agree to this? I don't trust you."

"I'm not asking you to. But I am your only way out of here."

"You could be lying."

Derek forced himself to be patient, but he knew that his replies were getting sharper — more annoyed — and he couldn't risk losing what little headway he had gained.

"I could be. But if I'm right, you will have missed your only chance of getting out of here. Would you be able to live with that?"

A short silence fell between them and Derek remained calm, even if his body was tense like a coiled spring. He didn't like having to _talk_ to get his way. He wasn't good at it and Winchester was technically his enemy. He was a hunter. Derek didn't even want to know how many people and creatures had died at Winchester's hand.

"You are quite eager to get out of here," Winchester said. "You don't have family or something you should be staying with instead?"

Derek wasn't sure if Winchester was trying to rally him up or just genuinely curious. He swallowed, gaze lowering for just a moment. He didn't want to be reminded of his family. He knew that he was failing them — that they deserved better than he was able to give them. The expression on Laura's face when he turned to leave her was something Derek would never forget.

"I do. But there's someone I need to go back to," Derek admitted reluctantly.

When he looked back up, Winchester's expression had changed. It wasn't sympathy or even pity, but there was something there, something that made the hunter lower his weapon — just an inch — and clear his throat.

"Say for a moment that I believe you. That you can get us out of here." Winchester gestured with the weapon again, taking a step closer. "I'll sign on to this escape plan on one condition, and this isn't negotiable — we're getting the angel first. I'm not leaving without him."

Derek frowned. He had no idea where the angel was or whether it would even be possible for him to pass through the portal. Derek wanted to say that it was a waste of time, but something in Winchester's gaze — the unflinching demand — made Derek realize that it would amount to nothing except an argument he couldn't afford to provoke. He needed a human to get home and if said human needed an angel to agree, then so be it.

"I can't guarantee that the portal works for angels," he warned, not wanting to get the blame if it came to that. Winchester nod was grim, but his expression seemed to say that he would _make_ it work if it didn't. Derek almost believed him, too, just by looking at the sheer determination on the hunter's face.

In that moment it was easy to accept that the Winchesters probably _had_ done the majority of the things the rumors suggested — at least if they faced it with that kind of resolve.

"So we have a deal?" Derek asked, back straight and voice firm. Excitement was stirring in his chest, however. He might be able to go home.

Winchester studied him for another moment. "We find the angel, you lead us to the portal, and I'll let you hitch a ride on the soul train."

Derek nodded in conformation, but neither of them seemed to relax. They still had no reason to trust each other. They might have agreed to escape Purgatory together, but it was another matter entirely to lay your life in someone else's hands. Derek wasn't prepared to do that, and it showed that Winchester wasn't either.

At least they were one step closer to getting the hell out of Purgatory.

Finding the angel proved to be tedious work. Not only did they run into far more monsters than Derek had ever done on his own, but being in the constant presence of someone he didn't quite trust made him edgy. His wolf seemed to pace restlessly, just below the surface, and he could tell by the looks Winchester kept giving him that the hunter had taken notice. They never spoke about it, though. They had more important things to focus on.

That didn't mean that Derek didn't get to know Winchester a bit better during the days and weeks that followed. It wasn't something he tried to do, it just seemed to happen. Both of them were pretty guarded and private at first but, little by little, Derek could see cracks in the hunter's stern mask. That was disconcerting, in many ways, since it distorted the view he had of Winchester.

The hunter was ruthless, brash, sarcastic, and just a little terrifying, but there were other sides to him too — ones that Derek didn't see at first. Sure, Derek had realized from the beginning that Winchester was a very stubborn man, but it took him a while to understand just how deep it ran. Every night, without exception, he could hear the hunter mutter words — prayers — that made no sense to Derek.

They weren't offered to God or any of the usual saints, and it took Derek some time to piece it together. Winchester was talking to the angel. Wherever this Cas was, Winchester never stopped praying to him. Derek was a little stunned by the conviction and dedication. He never mentioned it, though — never said that his hearing was good enough to pick up on what Winchester said even if he stepped away to get some privacy.

Derek stopped listening in after a while, giving him just that. It wasn't any of Derek's business.

They didn't exactly get along, either. Well, they didn't openly argue, but it was obvious that both of them were far too dominant to be able to let anything slide. They still worked together, of course, even if their personalities didn't match at all. There wasn't much else they _could_ do.

To Derek's surprise, it turned out that Winchester could actually be pretty funny when he wanted to, even if Derek rarely reacted or replied to the witty comments. It was a nice way to pass the time, though, which was why he never told the hunter to stop. Derek assumed that his continued silence was what drove Winchester to speak more than usual. Derek had that effect on people.

Derek never tried to understand Winchester's motivations or the deeper complexities of his person, but he felt that he knew the man pretty well after a while. He learned what made Winchester tick, what could make him smile, and just how broken he was. Derek could relate to that. It was comforting, in a way, to find another person who wasn't unbelievably well-adjusted to everything. Winchester was functional, of course, but there was a lot hidden — even someone as emotionally stunted as Derek could see that.

It was a depressing thing to have in common.

Surprisingly enough, their reluctant truce evolved into something less reluctant after a while. Derek certainly hadn't planned or anticipated it. He had just assumed that he and Winchester would cooperate under grumbled protests and never quite let go of the fact that they were hunter and werewolf. Not that they ever did forget that Winchester was human and Derek wasn't, but it didn't seem to matter as much when they were suddenly saving each other's lives left and right.

The first time Winchester saved Derek, he didn't do much else than grunt and clench his jaw in thanks. The same could be said for Winchester when Derek returned the favor.

The second time Derek ignored it while Winchester simply huffed out a muttered curse.

But by the third time Derek offered a short, grateful little nod and earned a wry, crooked smile in return. There was a definite edge of relief to it, though. Winchester might actually be getting attached, but Derek couldn't exactly claim to be entirely unaffected, either.

When Derek ripped the sleeve of his leather jacket, Winchester told him that it was a shame to ruin such a nice jacket, and Derek was entirely unprepared for the pat on his shoulder that followed. It was the first time anyone had touched him in a casual, non-threatening manner since he had seen Laura. Derek didn't as much as flinch, though.

He had grown accustomed to Winchester by then. It was easier to be around him, and Derek found himself enjoying the occasional snarky comments the hunter offered more and more often. They reminded him of Stiles, only a bit darker.

The fifth time Derek saved Winchester's life, he had to pull the hunter up from the ground and keep him steady until he found his balance. Derek did it without thinking, and didn't even notice the hand Winchester had on his shoulder for extra support. It didn't feel strange or out of place. They had gone through so much by then that the touches barely even registered.

It came natural to them both.

It was around that time that things changed. It was subtle — barely there — but Derek felt it all the same. It had probably been gradual over the time he had gotten to know Winchester, but when Derek realized that he could have the hunter in his personal space without tensing, he understood that he was beginning to trust him.

Days passed with them fighting side by side and, little by little, the feeling of relief and comfort grew. Winchester became Dean, and Derek relied on Dean to watch his back. Derek could barely remember what that felt like. With Dean it was strangely easy, however. Perhaps because there was a pure and bare kind of honesty to everything Dean did.

They might be enemies in the grand scheme of things, but there was something unconditional in the way Dean offered his support. There was no hesitation, as if Dean just didn't understand how to do things by halves. If Dean had your back, then you were one hundred percent protected, come hell or high water. No one had ever done that for Derek before. Derek was used to Scott's fickle alliances and the whims of indecisive teenagers. Dean was something different. Dean was reliable. A promise was a promise, with no hidden clauses or loopholes.

Derek was comforted by that knowledge, and it might have made him more eager to offer the same kind of security in return. He realized, with stunning clarity, that _this_ was real, unreserved trust. And the first one to have earned it in Derek's eyes was a hunter who should have been more interested in killing him.

Derek would have laughed at the irony if it hadn't also been so heartbreaking.

When they finally found the ragged, filthy angel by the rocky riverbank, Derek hadn't really known what to expect. He had never believed in angels, despite the stories his mother had told him. They had seemed more like fairytales than anything else to him — too good to be true — but he couldn't exactly claim to be a non-believer after having met Cas. Even if meeting him might have been a fancy word for it. They didn't really talk to each other.

Derek was unsocial by nature and while Dean had become a rather firm fixture in his life, the introduction of someone else made him fall back on his usual silences. Cas seemed to be a creature of few words as well, while Dean spoke enough for the three of them once he got started.

The angel made Derek uncomfortable — he was man enough to admit that. At first he had been vaguely disappointed because Cas hadn't seemed very angelic, but that opinion changed the moment he looked Cas in the eyes the first time. Derek had felt completely bare, unable to hide or shy away from that scrutinizing, blue gaze. It felt like Cas could read his entire life's history with nothing but a glance, hear his every thought, and pick at every memory Derek tried to shield from prying eyes — all with the same emotionless, blank look on his face.

Derek had no idea how to react to that. He had never met a creature like Cas before and he didn't know how to handle him.

It surprised him how easily Dean accepted what Cas was, but he had apparently had practice. Perhaps he couldn't feel the weight of those gazes anymore, or perhaps Cas treated Dean differently. It might even be a combination of the two.

Either way, Derek was uncomfortable in the angel's presence, not only because he shivered at the thought of what Cas might see when he looked at him, but because Derek felt small and insignificant in comparison. Dean didn't seem to notice that even if Cas was ruffled and dirty, he was still an angel. Not the cute cherub kind, either — he was a warrior. Derek could feel Cas' power hum in the air and it made him unsettled.

He never complained, though. Finding Cas had been a part of the deal and Derek had every intention of fulfilling his side of the bargain. And, in all honesty, Dean more or less forgot about Derek once Cas came into the picture.

They apparently had a lot to talk about.

Derek made sure to keep to the sidelines since most of the conversations seemed to be about events he had no part in. He didn't want to get involved, even if he could admit that it made him feel strangely proud when Dean vouched for him and explained to the angel that Derek was reliable. Dean trusted him. Derek had earned Dean's trust just as much as Dean had earned Derek's. That was the first time that had happened.

He didn't know exactly what kind of relationship Dean and Cas had, but he would have to be a fool not to see that it went deep. It wasn't his business to define it beyond that, but he could understand why Dean had insisted on finding Cas before they left — why he was prepared to brave Leviathans just to bring his angel home with them. It was that specific brand of unconditional and wholehearted devotion that Dean seemed to have an impossible abundance of.

Derek didn't understand how Dean managed.

The strain added by Cas' arrival was at least counteracted by the angel's proficiency in battle. Not that Derek and Dean hadn't been doing well on their own — Cas just made it easier. But he also painted a bigger target on their backs.

Had Derek been any less convinced that Dean might actually ditch him in favor of the angel, he might have protested against it. But, as things were now, Derek could relate to Dean's need to have Cas with them. Derek was driven by something similar, after all, even if he was trying to get back to someone important rather than make sure that they weren't left behind.

He still understood Dean's motivation.

When the Leviathans attacked the first time, Derek didn't even consider running off to save his own skin. He hadn't fought one before — probably because the Leviathans had been busy trying to locate the angel — but if Dean was staying, then so was Derek. He tried to tell himself that it was only because he needed Dean alive, but he couldn't even fool himself.

He stayed because he wanted to — because Dean needed him too. It felt strange to know that Dean would have done the same, had their situations been reversed.

Derek even went far enough to help Cas, but it wasn't that much of a stretch, truth be told. Derek had never aimed to be a bad guy, werewolf or not, and he saw no pleasure in the deaths of decent people. He wasn't sure if the angel would grant him the same help in return, but that didn't matter. They were in this together, simple as that.

Cas seemed less interested in leaving than someone in his shoes should be.

The Leviathans were after him but every time Dean and Cas argued, the angel seemed to think that Dean was the one making the mistake by trying to save them all. Derek never took part in those discussions and interrupted only when he thought that they had lingered too long in one place. They needed to keep moving. He could see that Cas' reluctance grated on Dean's nerves, however, but it wasn't Derek's place to meddle. He wasn't even sure if there was anything he could do to help, so he simply let it be.

The closer they came to the portal, the more worried Derek became. Not because Dean and Cas kept arguing like a married couple, but because he was afraid that they would stumble on the finish line somehow. They were so close, and if they failed now, he had no idea if he would ever be able to make a second attempt. Derek hadn't had the foresight Peter had had, so there weren't many options open to him.

This could be his only shot.

Dean remained determined, however, to the point where it was almost annoying. He seemed certain that they would manage, and Derek was surprised by how much that reminded him of Scott. The only difference being that Dean was actually resourceful enough to make good on all those promises. Scott usually just stumbled around without a clue as to what he was doing.

Still, Derek kind of missed that too. He missed innocence.

When they finally reached the hill where the portal was located, Derek didn't know whether to feel relief or dread. This was it. Only a couple of steps further and he would be home — as long as Dean kept his side of their deal.

He needn't have worried, though. Dean was tense and expectant — still prepared for last-minute complications — but the ghost of a smile was playing on his lips. They were so close they could almost touch it.

"Time to get on board," Dean joked. He didn't seem the least bit concerned about the prospect of carrying Derek's soul inside his arm.

Derek took a deep breath and stepped closer to the hunter, ignoring how Cas observed them from a couple of feet away. There was impatience and caution there — as if Cas was just waiting for something bad to happen — which didn't calm Derek in the least. Dean was the only one who seemed convinced that this was going to work. Derek admired Dean's resolve, and his determination to get them through this mess.

There were only a couple of remaining details to take care of. Derek had explained the mechanics of the soul transfer to Dean — the connection through their blood and how to go about it — but there was still the matter of returning his soul to his body.

"Like I said, I don't know where they buried me but it shouldn't be too difficult to—"

"I'll find it, Derek. Don't worry. I locate and dig up graves for a living," Dean interrupted with a soft chuckle. Derek felt his lips twitch towards a smile.

"Is that supposed to be comforting?"

"No." Dean shook his head. "It's a promise. I'll get us through. I'll get us home."

Derek felt something lodge in his throat. It was difficult to swallow around and he had to clear his throat to be able to speak properly.

"Yeah. I know you will." Derek met Dean's gaze, feeling some of his anxiety settle. "I trust you."

Dean probably had no idea how huge a confession that was for Derek, but it didn't exactly matter. Derek knew that Dean wouldn't betray his trust, not if there was ways for him not to. For once in his life Derek understood why trust wasn't a weakness but an asset — something to crave and fight for.

Dean's smile and the way he clutched Derek's upper arm, familiar and reassuring, was all Derek needed to know that he had been missing out. Ever since the fire he had sought solitude rather than company, and refused to rely on others in fear of losing what little control he still had. That had been the wrong choice.

This was the right one.

Derek didn't hesitate. He would be in the hunter's mercy after the soul transfer was completed, but he knew that Dean wouldn't disappoint. Dean would get them through that portal.

They were going home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVED writing this chapter. It was so much fun to write Derek and Dean's interactions and explore the growing trust between them. I just can't help it x'D Both are characters I love and adore and I really think that they have a lot to offer each other, once they get past their differences. And Cas, the poor thing, didn't even get one single line. Still love you, though, you adorable angel you.
> 
> And yes, Laura made an appearance because, well... Laura.
> 
> [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum) beta'ed as usual. She keeps nagging at me to write an actual Destiel fic instead of this crossover thingie, but all in due time! I had lots of fun with the characters in this chapter anyway.
> 
> See you on Saturday for the final chapter! :D


	3. Life

 

* * *

 

Coming back to life felt strangely anticlimactic.

The feat itself was admirable and nigh impossible, but it wasn't exactly glamorous to be brought back by having someone dig up your grave in the middle of the night. Still, Derek couldn't complain when he felt life surge through him once more and he could rise to stand opposite Dean on the edges of the Hale property.

Of course they had buried him there. And wearing one of his leather jackets. Figures.

Derek wasn't entirely unprepared for the heartfelt hug Dean pulled him into, but it made him a little awkward all the same. He wasn't used to physical displays of affection anymore. Derek still returned the embrace to the best of his abilities.

"We made it, man." Dean laughed as he thumped Derek on his back, pulling away enough to offer a wide, relieved grin. Derek didn't laugh but made sure to smile. He was happy — happier than he had been in a long time.

They were back.

He could smell the familiar scents of Beacon Hills and even the moldy, rotting remains of his old house felt comforting. He was home. It felt good to leave the oppressive weight of Purgatory behind. Derek reveled in all the smells and sounds he could suddenly experience again. There was life, all around him, and he had never thought that he would appreciate it to the degree that he did.

Derek threw a quick glance around them, frowning in confusion.

"Cas?" he asked cautiously, not sure if the angel had already taken off to do whatever angels did.

He might as well have punched Dean in the face. The joy vanished and a shadow that looked suspiciously like guilt fell over the hunter's eyes. Dean gave a sharp, jerking shake of his head and that was all Derek needed to understand that Cas hadn't made it. Whether it was the portal not letting him through or something else, Derek didn't know, but he could tell that asking wouldn't be a good idea. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know, either. He was bad at comforting people.

All he could seem to manage was to place his hand on Dean's shoulder, and that was only allowed for a couple of seconds. Dean soon cleared his throat and took a step back, out of Derek's reach, signaling quite clearly that it was the end of that topic. Derek wasn't going to push.

"Well... here we are. You think you can find your own way from here?" There was a mild teasing edge to Dean's voice and Derek might have laughed, had he been anyone else. Now he just raised an amused eyebrow.

"I think I can manage."

"Good. That's good." Dean's smile was a little crooked, but no less honest. "And good luck with the whole 'returning from the dead' business. I'm somewhat of an expert on the subject — if there even is such a thing — and you'll definitely need some luck to go with the crazy you're going to run into."

Derek chuckled. "Thanks, I'll remember that. And good luck to you on finding your brother."

Dean waved his hand. "Nothing to worry about. We always find each other, him and I."

An awkward little silence settled between them. Dean coughed none too subtly before he laughed, low and raspy.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye. For now," Dean finally admitted, eyes downcast while he rubbed a hand over his mouth. He soon looked up again, raising a finger to point at Derek. "You be a good werewolf. Don't make me come back here and kill your ass. You got a second chance. Make it count."

Derek rolled his eyes.

"As long as you don't start another apocalypse," Derek shot back.

Dean grinned and held out his hand for Derek to shake. "I make no promises, furface."

Derek should have objected to the nickname — he really should have — but he didn't mind it as much as he thought that he would. He took an almost childish pleasure in squeezing Dean's hand just a bit too tightly when he shook it instead, and grinned wolfishly at the small twitch in Dean's jaw when the hunter tried not to show how much it hurt.

Saying goodbye was harder than Derek had expected. He hadn't thought, in a million years, that he would care. But he did. He would miss Dean. He would miss the companionship and Dean's brash personality but, most of all, he would miss the security of having someone he trusted close by. He hadn't been prepared for how much he had actually begun to treasure that.

Dean gave him a phone number to call if he ever needed anything, sure, but that wouldn't be the same. To stand there and watch Dean walk away after having spent so much time looking after each other left Derek feeling a little hollow inside.

"Keep in touch!" Dean threw out over his shoulder, and even if Derek wasn't sure if he would ever call, there was only one way to reply to that offer.

"I will. Stay out of trouble."

Dean responded with a jaunty wave but said nothing more. Neither did Derek.

It was easier that way.

The first thing Derek did wasn't to show up on Stiles' doorstep like some nighttime stalker. He was more practical than that.

No, the first thing he did was to see if his loft was still his — it wasn't — and then he tried to slowly piece together what he had missed while he had been gone.

He was struck dumb when he saw the date on a news billboard. May 2013. He had been gone for more than eighteen months. He had been _dead_ for over eighteen months. Purgatory had felt like an agonizingly dull and slow prison sentence, but he had no idea it had been that long.

No wonder someone else was renting the loft now.

Derek had no idea if any of his belongings had survived his death. Peter wasn't the sentimental type so he wouldn't have kept them, and Stiles and the others probably didn't even know where Derek had been living. It didn't really matter, though. Derek hadn't had much to begin with and it wouldn't take long to gather the necessities again.

Well, as soon as he got some money.

He had no wallet, driver's license, or clothes — besides the ones he had been wearing when he was buried. He wondered briefly where the Camaro was, but he wasn't sure if he actually wanted to know the answer. Each new scenario was worse than the previous one.

With not much else to do he resigned himself to aimlessly wander around Beacon Hills, waiting for the sun to rise. He wasn't tired or hungry yet and was too restless to sit down, his entire being humming with pent up energy. He had expected to be exhausted from his time in Purgatory and the escape through the portal, but he was almost jumping on the balls of his feet.

He was alive. He was back.

Each breath he took was deep enough to catch as many mingling scents as possible, every new nuance sending a tingle of excitement down his spine.

He hadn't even realized how much he missed the sun until it rose above the edges of the trees and he saw it again for the first time. The sun back in Purgatory had been dull in comparison, its light murky and hazy — as if it was seen through a dirty filter. It was nothing like the real sun — not even close. Derek found himself just standing there, eyes closed and hands shoved into his pockets, soaking up the sunlight.

Soon the first commuters started buzzing around him and Derek quietly slipped into the shadows, observing them coming and going. He had forgotten what it was like not to flinch at every person he saw. They weren't going to attack him. This wasn't Purgatory. Derek watched them until his hunger drove him to actually start getting his shit in order.

While he wanted to talk to Stiles as soon as possible, Derek knew that he needed to find Peter first.

Besides, it was in the middle of the day in May. Stiles should be in school. Or was it college? Derek honestly couldn't keep track and it wasn't an issue. Well, it would be if it turned out that Stiles was in college and had moved to another city, but then it was just a matter of finding him again.

That was secondary, in either case — at least until Derek had gotten a hold of some money, food, and new clothes.

So he went to Peter's apartment downtown, relieved when it turned out that Peter was, in fact, still living there. Considering how long Derek had been gone, there had been no guarantees.

Peter only hesitated momentarily — one blink and a beat of silence — before he smiled, all pleasant and welcoming. "Welcome back, darling nephew. How was Purgatory? Still bleak?"

"Pretty much," Derek replied tonelessly as he shouldered past Peter, rudely stepping inside the apartment without as much as an invitation. It wasn't as if Peter had any right to start complaining about personal boundaries.

"So, I'm guessing you're here for supplies?" Peter closed the door behind Derek, unfazed by his nephew's sudden return from the dead.

Then again, it apparently ran in the family.

"Money, mostly. The rest can be arranged later." Derek stopped in the hall. He had no intention of staying longer than necessary and he knew that Peter wouldn't try to keep him, either.

"Well, let's begin with these." Peter opened one of the drawers in the hall dresser and rummaged through it for a second, before tossing something at Derek.

He caught it without trouble and looked down at the keys in his hand. Car keys. _Derek's_ car keys.

"She's parked in the garage. I might have driven her once or twice... or twenty times. It would have been a shame to let such a beautiful car go to waste, right?" Peter shrugged.

Derek frowned in dislike, but bit back whatever complaints he might have. He had been dead — Peter making use of his car was only expected.

"Money?" Derek had no qualms about asking his uncle for money. Not after all the shit Peter had put him through. Besides, he had a feeling that Peter had been wise enough to somehow get a hold of whatever money Derek had had before he died. Peter was resourceful like that.

"Certainly. How much? You plan on buying yourself a whole new wardrobe?"

Derek shook his head. "Not now. Just food, someplace to stay, and a change of clothes."

Peter hummed while pulling out his wallet.

"Yes, those do have a rather unmistakable stench of death to them, don't they?" He nodded towards the outfit Derek was wearing but couldn't have been expecting an answer considering that he kept talking. "I can report that all is calm in Beacon Hills right now. Well, save the apparent resurrection of dead alphas."

Peter grinned and teasingly pulled the folded bills out of Derek's reach when he tried to take them. Derek wasn't foolish enough to make a second attempt and instead pressed his lips together into a thin line, waiting for whatever jibe Peter wanted to send his way next.

"You met the family, I suppose?"

Derek swallowed back the bitter taste of bile and shook his head. He didn't want to think about that.

"Only Laura."

Peter seemed surprised and continued to hold the money out of Derek's reach. "Really? I thought that you would take the chance to mend burned bridges — if you do excuse the phrasing."

Derek gritted his teeth. He wasn't going to discuss that with Peter of all people.

"Maybe next time," Derek growled impatiently and held out his hand for the money.

"So what did sweet little Laura say?" Peter asked, finally handing over the bills.

"Only that she wasn't surprised that I killed you to avenge her death," Derek replied testily, not even caring that it was the somewhat twisted truth. That wasn't exactly what she had said, but it was close enough. The sentiment was the same.

"Hm. Yes, I suppose she wouldn't be." Peter shrugged casually.

Derek made his way towards the door after having shoved the bills into his pocket. He had gotten what he came for and Peter always managed to drive him up the walls, which was something he didn't have time for right now.

He wanted to see Stiles as soon as possible.

Derek had gotten as far as grabbing the door handle when Peter's voice made him stop.

"Don't be surprised if you find that the kids have grown up while you were gone. It's been over a year and you know how they are at that age — prone to change and resilient to loss..." Peter's voice was light but his words were foreboding. "They're not like they were when you left them. They have changed — all of them. So be wise about this. Some of them might even dislike you returning from the dead."

Derek looked over his shoulder, his glare sharp and burning red. Peter raised his hands in surrender, but his smile had a sinister curl to it.

"Just a fair warning."

Derek didn't deign that with a reply and simply marched out of Peter's apartment, slamming the door shut behind him. But he could admit that a seed of worry had already been planted in his chest. Eighteen months was a long time.

What if Stiles didn't want to see him?

When Derek finally climbed the steps leading up to Stiles' porch, he was a lot more nervous than he cared to admit. His heart was beating faster than usual and he kept clenching and unclenching his hands, as if he couldn't keep them still. He had taken a shower at the hotel room he had rented for the night, eaten, gotten a change of clothes — even if he still kept the jacket because it was a nice one, even Dean had said so — and then headed off to the Stilinski's.

He had parked the Camaro a couple of blocks away since he had no idea how Stiles might react to him pulling up in front of the house. It was better not to risk it. Not that there was a way to do this that wouldn't come as a shock the first second or two, but they could get past that. Or so Derek hoped.

Derek felt some of his anxiety ease when he caught Stiles' scent. Stiles was definitely in the house. He could hear Stiles' characteristic heartbeat, always unpredictable and a little out of rhythm. Derek found comfort in how familiar that was, the longing spreading like wildfire inside him.

He was finally here.

The sheriff seemed to be at work, which Derek was grateful for. He didn't want to risk having the sheriff open the door, not when he didn't know if Stiles had told his dad about werewolves yet. Seeing a presumably dead and buried person would probably be a bit too much to process if that wasn't the case.

It would probably be even if Sheriff Stilinski _did_ know about werewolves.

Derek rang the doorbell before he had time to change his mind, holding his breath when he heard Stiles shuffle around inside. Seconds later his footsteps thundered down the stairs, heading for the front door. This was it.

A part of him wanted to run. As long as he didn't come face to face with Stiles, he could pretend that everything was fine — that there was still hope — and he wouldn't have to hear the verdict.

It was only his need to see Stiles with his own eyes that made him stay put.

Derek could hear Stiles' heartbeat and slightly elevated breaths — probably from the run downstairs — and his scent was so much stronger now. Derek had missed all of it. He still made sure to take a step back, not wanting to hover too close to the door. He imagined that the shock of seeing Derek alive on his doorstep would be enough on its own for someone like Stiles.

The handle turned and the door swung open. And, just like that, Derek forgot how to breathe. Stiles froze in the doorway, his eyes widening slowly as recognition set in, but Derek barely noticed.

He was staring just as much as Stiles was.

More than eighteen months. Derek should have realized that Stiles wouldn't look the same. He should have realized that Stiles would mature — grow stronger, firmer, and _gorgeous_. Stiles was gorgeous. Derek might be vaguely subjective on the matter, but he was pretty certain that this wasn't just him. Stiles had grown up. Derek had seen the first signs during the months before he had died, but nothing could have prepared him for this.

Stiles' teenage gangliness was pretty much gone, replaced by something leaner and firmer. His clothes fit him nicely instead of hanging off his shoulders like drapes, always a little too big. Stiles was taller, too, if Derek wasn't mistaken, and his face was a little more angular, less soft and boyish. The eyes were the same, though, wide and bright with stupidly dark, long eyelashes. Derek wanted to map out all the little moles on Stiles' skin and run his hands through his ruffled hair. There was so much he wanted to do — so much he wanted to say — but he didn't know where to start.

He didn't know if Stiles would allow him to.

Stiles was staring, completely motionless. Derek found himself wondering if Stiles' voice might have changed as well, perhaps into something deeper? He was suddenly curious about all the changes Stiles must have gone through — how different he would be now — and Derek took a slow breath to prepare himself to say something, anything, to break the silence.

He never got that far.

As soon as Derek made the smallest of movements, the expression on Stiles' face changed from utter and complete shock to a twisted, pained grimace. Derek only caught a glimpse of it — he could have sworn that Stiles was about to cry — before the door was slammed in his face.

Derek blinked in incomprehension, staring stupidly at the closed door as if it had personally offended him. Of all the things he had expected Stiles to do, that wasn't one of them. Perhaps that had been ignorant of him, but he had thought that Stiles would have shouted or ranted long before he closed the door on him.

"It's not him. It's not. It can't be. This isn't happening. Derek is gone. Derek isn't coming back."

Derek heard the low, muttered words from the other side of the door, said through clenched teeth and with such vehemence that Derek felt something twist inside his chest. He swallowed, hesitating slightly before reaching out to knock on the door.

He was back. He needed to make Stiles understand that, even if it might be a little too much to handle at first.

But then he heard it.

"He isn't coming back. I don't _want_ him to come back. I'm over it. I'm fine," Stiles continued to whisper, probably leaning against the door while mumbling heatedly under his breath.

Derek froze, his hand inches away from knocking. It took him a moment to process Stiles' words, and he slowly lowered his hand when they finally registered.

It was worse than a sledgehammer to the chest — it was like getting it torn wide open. Stiles didn't want to see him. Even if Peter had warned him, Derek hadn't actually thought that Stiles would be one of those who wouldn't be happy to have him back. He hadn't allowed himself to think that, mostly because Stiles had been the reason he had returned in the first place. He wanted to get back to Stiles.

This was his reason for having fought his way out of Purgatory.

But he guessed it made sense. Eighteen months was a long time. Stiles had moved on — Derek was something from the past for him. It was unfair of Derek to expect Stiles to linger the same way he had. Stiles had every right to move on — it was the wise thing to do, in fact, in his position.

Knowing that he probably didn't have a place in Stiles' life anymore hurt more than Derek was able to handle. It was a cold, pulsing kind of ache that spread slowly through his veins and limbs. He felt numb.

He started unseeing at the door for a couple of seconds before he swallowed harshly, ignoring how raw and dry his throat felt. Derek might be pretty stupid, but he could tell when he wasn't wanted. He could tell when it was better for him to just leave — before he made things worse for Stiles. That was the last thing he wanted. He had gotten his answer.

Stiles didn't want him to come back. That was all he needed to know.

Derek turned, feeling strangely out of place — as if he wasn't were he belonged at all — and quietly made his way down the flight of stairs again. He didn't look back and didn't hesitate. Stiles didn't want him there.

Derek could admit that he hadn't expected this. He didn't know how to take this. He had been prepared for anger, disbelief, denial, and perhaps even a bit of joy — but not this. Not to be turned away without even getting the chance to explain himself. To apologize for dying and taking such a long time before he was able to return.

Perhaps, if he had gotten back sooner, it wouldn't have been too late.

But those were stupid thoughts. Derek had learned long ago that there was no such thing as changing the past, and he had to accept the cards he had been dealt. He was a master at that by now. Being alive — even if it was a life without Stiles — was still better than Purgatory. He still had a second chance. Perhaps he could do something with his life this time.

Perhaps he could be better.

Derek stopped, closed his eyes, and took a deep, cleansing breath. He would get through this, just like he had gotten through everything else life had decided to throw at him. It wouldn't be easy and it might take time, but he would manage.

He opened his eyes again and calmly continued towards the Camaro. It felt like a piece of him had cracked and slipped just a fraction out of place, grating uncomfortably against the rest of him, leaving him sore and on edge. It was like constantly gnashing his teeth, and there was no stopping the pain.

All he could do was try to ignore it.

It took Derek several days before he called Dean, and then only because he got increasingly bored of wallowing in his own misery. While that had been something he did frequently two years ago, he didn't find much pleasure in it now.

He had actually managed to grow out of moping while in Purgatory. Imagine that.

He had made sure to stay well out of Stiles' and anyone else's way ever since it became clear that he might not be as welcome as he had hoped. It wasn't permanent — he was going to apologize to his betas for being such a shitty alpha whether they wanted him to or not — but he didn't mind taking a couple of days to sort things out first.

Peter did indeed have money to return to Derek, and while he could easily have rented another apartment, Derek chose to head for his old house instead. It was a decaying safety hazard and he had no intention of staying there for more than a couple of days, but he liked the tranquility. It didn't feel quite as painful as he remembered, either.

Perhaps it was because of what Laura had told him, or perhaps it was because Derek had a rather different view on death now that he had died himself. Either way, he found himself relaxing rather than tensing as he wandered the broken, burnt remains of the house. It was soothing in a cleansing way, which came as an unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome, surprise.

Derek had made sure to buy more clothes and a phone, so one evening when he was feeling particularly maudlin he dialed the number Dean had given him. He wasn't sure if he even expected Dean to pick up, so Derek was a little surprised when there was a simple and slightly suspicious reply on the other end of the line.

"Yeah?"

Derek smiled crookedly. "Dean."

The pause was so short that it couldn't even be called a pause.

"Furface. Hang on—" There was some shuffling and the sound of a door closing before Dean spoke again, his voice louder and brighter this time. "I'm surprised you called. I figured it would take you months before you even considered it, what with your daily word count and all that."

"I don't have a daily word count," Derek replied with a frown.

"Then I guess you just have crappy social skills. Like, Rain Man crappy."

Derek rolled his eyes but he could admit that he had missed Dean's company.

"Are you done? Because I was trying to have an actual conversation here."

"You? A conversation? To which I am invited? Well, this is gotta hear."

Derek chuckled despite himself. Yeah, things were surprisingly easy with Dean. He leaned back against the railing off the porch, feeling it shift a little under his weight. Whatever remains there were of the house wouldn't survive the wind and rain much longer, but Derek wasn't going to stay for more than another couple of days anyway.

"So, how have things been? You found who you were looking for?" Dean asked.

Derek took a slow breath and released it in a huffing sigh that came pretty close to a self-depreciating laugh.

"He slammed the door in my face." He could hear the bitterness in his own voice, but he wasn't afraid to let it show. Dean wasn't going to hold it against him.

"Ouch. I'm sorry, man. That really sucks." Dean wasn't eloquent but he was at least honest. Derek appreciated that more than he would soothing, comforting words.

"I guess I'm not really that surprised," Derek said. "I was gone for over eighteen months."

"Eighteen? It was a year for me." Dean's voice was lower now, contemplative almost.

"How did your brother take it?" Derek wasn't sure if he had ever been genuinely interested in a conversation like this before, but he was now.

The sound Dean made was probably meant to be a laugh, but seemed more like a harsh scoff. "Don't get me started on that. It's just... let's just say that both you and I have reasons to feel a little disappointed right now."

Derek closed his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face. "Sorry to hear that."

"Not as sorry as I was," Dean muttered, and Derek could imagine the expression on the hunter's face. The blank, fierce look that would be betrayed only by how tightly Dean's jaw was clenched and how guarded his eyes were. Dean had taken it pretty hard.

"At least we managed to get back."

Dean sighed on the other end. "Yeah, we did. Let's just hope it was worth it."

Derek fell silent, Dean's sentence hanging between them like a painful reminder of what they had gone through. Derek closed his eyes.

"Was it for you?" he asked after a long pause. Dean didn't reply at once, and when he finally did, he sounded haunted.

"I don't know yet."

Derek could guess what Dean was referring to. Cas had been left behind. Derek still didn't know the circumstances and he wasn't going to ask, but he could hear the implications in Dean's words and the hesitation in his voice. Dean blamed himself and wasn't sure if it was worth being back with his brother if it meant leaving Cas alone in Purgatory.

"How about you?"

Dean's question made Derek think for a moment. Was it worth it? Stiles might be lost to him but he was alive. That was better than nothing. He smiled weakly.

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure it will be."

And when he hung up a couple of minutes later, Derek felt that he might have been speaking the truth. He could still make something out of his life. A second chance was a second chance no matter how he looked at it, and it wasn't fair to neither him nor Stiles to have everything rely solely on their relationship. It was a romantic notion, sure, but not a healthy one.

Derek needed to live for his own sake, not for his guilt or his past and not for someone else.

His life was his own.

That epiphany, however simple it may be, felt like it came years later than it should have. But it wasn't too late.

He had a second chance, after all.

Derek opened his eyes, looking up at the decaying roof above him. He could easily pick up on Stiles' Jeep driving up to the house — sounding even rustier and squeakier than before — and the frustrated conversation taking place inside it.

"I know it sounds crazy, Scott. It really does. But I _know_ what I saw!"

"So you keep saying but, Stiles, we both know that it's not likely that—"

"Peter did it! It's possible!"

Derek frowned and sat up. The ratty mattress he was lying on barely constituted as a bed, but it would have to do until tomorrow when he would get access to his new apartment. Derek wasn't particularly picky, not after Purgatory, so he could stand less than stellar accommodations if needed.

He rose smoothly to his feet, knowing that there was no way that Stiles and Scott would leave before he had spoken to them. Not considering that it seemed that they came in search for him.

"Stiles, I'm just—"

"Look! The Camaro! Why on earth would Peter park the Camaro here? I'm telling you, Scott, I _saw_ him. For real. I saw Derek."

Derek stopped. Of course Stiles had seen him. Derek distinctly remembered that Stiles had shut the door in his face, even.

Derek tilted his head to the side. Perhaps he had expected too much out of Stiles when he had shown up like he had? It sounded like Stiles had thought Derek was a ghost — not the real thing. That still didn't change the fact that Stiles apparently didn't want Derek to come back, but it did explain the slamming of doors in faces.

Derek shook his head. He'd find out soon enough. The Jeep came to a stop in front of the house and it was only a matter of seconds before Scott would catch Derek's scent. Or hear him — whichever came first.

"Stiles, will you just—" Scott fell silent on his own this time. Derek assumed it was because Scott had finally noticed that he and Stiles weren't alone.

Derek calmly made his way down the stairs while Scott and Stiles tumbled out of the car under various hissed curses and urging comments to be careful — Stiles being responsible for the former and Scott the latter. Scott seemed certain that someone dangerous was hiding in the old Hale house. Derek rolled his eyes, pushed open the front door, and walked out onto the porch, in full view of the two teenagers.

Stiles did such a violent double-take that it looked more like a recoil than anything else. Thankfully, Scott was there to catch him when he nearly stumbled over his own feet. Derek wanted to smile at the sight. Stiles was still Stiles, apparently, despite how much older he looked.

"Derek..." Scott sounded both awed and confused. "You... you're back."

"Seems that way," Derek replied drily.

"Told you so!" Stiles hissed angrily, slapping Scott's arm. Scott frowned and gave Stiles a betrayed look, while Derek crossed his arms over his chest.

"Can I help you with anything?" Derek asked calmly, to the point where he almost wanted to wince at how flat his own voice sounded. He was actually pretty happy to see the two of them, even if he still hadn't gotten over how Stiles had turned him away last time.

"Can you—" Stiles interrupted himself to wave his arms through the air, Scott ducking expertly to avoid getting hit in the face. "Can _you_ help _us_ with anything? What on— you come back from the dead and that's the first thing you say to us?" Stiles was talking in a much higher pitch than usual.

"Second thing I said, actually," Derek deadpanned, which only earned him a furious glare.

"Okay, yeah, fine. You can do me the favor of explaining how _the hell you're alive_!" Stiles spat out, suddenly angry rather than bewildered. Derek wasn't sure which of those he preferred.

"There are loopholes."

"Loopholes," Stiles repeated through clenched teeth.

Derek nodded. "Peter used one, I found another. So I'm back."

He didn't say why. He couldn't say why. He couldn't admit that it was because he couldn't forget what he and Stiles had almost had before he died — that single kiss they had shared. He couldn't say that when Stiles looked so _angry_ that Derek was there in the first place.

Derek might be stubborn, but he wasn't going to chase after something he knew wasn't going to happen. Stiles had moved on — as was his right. They had never promised each other anything.

"Just... just like that?" Stiles arms flopped down again, hanging useless along his sides.

"Just like that," Derek confirmed with a small nod. It was a lie. There was so much more behind it than that, but he couldn't admit to that.

"Why did you come back?" Scott asked, his tone strangely hostile.

Derek frowned but didn't reply. It was none of Scott's business and, judging by the look on Scott's face, he already had some sort of theory as to why Derek was there — and it wasn't a flattering one.

"Is it to take revenge?"

Derek stared in incomprehension. It was only the dead serious look on Scott's face that kept Derek from asking whether Scott was joking. Scott looked defensive, as if he thought that Derek might attack at any second.

Stiles just looked confused.

"What? On you?" Derek wasn't following.

Why on Earth would he want to take revenge on Scott?

"I was the one who called you," Scott replied, "and you died because you came to help us, so considering—"

That was just too much. Derek couldn't handle the serious and partly guilty look on Scott's face.

He burst out laughing.

Had this been before Purgatory Derek would have snarled, offended by Scott's assumptions, but now he could only laugh at Scott's stupidity. Derek was so tired of dealing with Scott's shit and the constant, unrelenting misconception that Derek was somehow out to hurt him.

"Really, Scott?" Derek was still chuckling and both Stiles and Scott were staring at him like he was a complete stranger. Perhaps he was. Perhaps laughing wasn't something he would have done before Purgatory, but he wasn't the same person anymore. "You want this to be about you too? Like everything else apparently has to be?"

Derek walked down the porch steps, relaxed and at ease despite the sharpness in his tone. Scott still flinched back, as if fighting an urge to cower.

"You seriously think that I dragged myself out of Purgatory just to be able to come back here and take revenge on a teenage werewolf who can't even find enough sense to hide from people who want to kill him? You think that I've saved your life, time and time again, ever since we first met, just to throw it all away by killing you myself?"

Derek walked steadily closer, stopping only when he was a couple of feet away. Scott was definitely inching backwards by then, barely able to meet Derek's gaze.

Derek continued to speak calmly, but there was no mistaking the contempt in his voice. "I'm only going to say this once, Scott, so you better listen. This has _nothing_ to do with you. I _chose_ to help you that night — just like every other time I've saved your life — and even if that particular incident resulted in my death, it has _nothing_ to do with you. It was my decision. _I_ was the one who died. So don't make this into something about you. And don't you _dare_ to try and paint me the villain when I have done nothing to deserve it."

Scott made a grimace that could have been an attempt at some kind of reply.

"Scott, look at me," Derek commanded. Scott snapped to attention with a jolt.

Their eyes met and Derek suddenly realized that something was different between them. Scott was looking at him with something like reluctant respect in his eyes. That had never been there before. Scott was still an omega and Derek was an alpha, but this was the first time that Scott had actually obeyed him without question.

Derek took a slow breath and allowed the power thrumming in his veins to ease — soften. He hadn't even noticed how the alpha within him seemed to have risen, churning just under the surface.

"I'm not here to avenge anything. I'm here because I want to live. Do you hear me?" Derek made sure that his voice was less harsh this time, but definitely not weaker.

Scott nodded, his expression grim but apologetic. Perhaps Scott could learn after all.

"Wow. I am so turned on right now."

Derek's head whipped around to stare at Stiles in surprise, Scott not far behind. Stiles swallowed and gestured vaguely between them.

"Judging by the look on your faces, I'm guessing that I did in fact say that out loud." Stiles licked his lips and cleared his throat. "Any chance that we can all forget about it?"

Derek didn't really know what to reply — which was a rather common occurrence as soon as Stiles was involved — so he chose to ignore it. Sometimes it was just easier that way, when Derek needed to deal with Stiles and his general existence.

"Go home. Both of you," Derek said with a barely audible sigh.

It wasn't like he had anything better to do, but he wasn't in the mood to stand there and bicker with them. Scott turned to leave without any further prompting, stopping only long enough to grab a hold of Stiles' arm and drag him along with him. Stiles struggled against it, though, and a small spark of hope flared in Derek's chest.

He squashed it before it had any chance to grow, however, and turned back to the house without a second glance.

Stiles' hesitation probably didn't mean anything.

Derek moved into his new apartment, ignored any and all calls from Peter, and found, little by little, that he was getting settled. He hadn't talked to Stiles or Scott again, probably because he had moved and they had no means to find him, but he learned to deal with that. The ache of longing had eased into a dull throb at that point, and it was easier to start getting his new life in order.

The first thing he did was to make sure that his apartment looked presentable. The loft had been a hasty attempt at some kind of living arrangement, and it had been dull and boring. Now Derek actually bought furniture. Building them proved to be a nice if a bit frustrating challenge and he would never, under any circumstances or any kind of torture, admit that he might have been close to tossing it all out through the window more than once.

After that he bought clothes and other necessities, until the apartment eventually looked more like a home than the loft ever had. It still wasn't much, but Derek didn't mind living a little Spartan. He did spoil himself with a nice TV and home entertainment system, though, because he needed _something_ to keep him occupied aside from the small collection of books he had bought so far.

All in all, he was pretty pleased.

He felt more stable than he ever had before. It was strange, in a way, since he should have been distraught. He had left his family in Purgatory to find his way back to Stiles, only to realize that he was already too late. And that definitely hurt, but his life in general was better. For once he knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to live. He didn't particularly care how or what he did — he just wanted to live.

So that was what he did. And it was strangely satisfying.

Derek hadn't called Dean again — mostly because he had no reason to — and just kept to himself most of the time. Except the day he went to see Isaac, Erica, and Boyd, one after the other, to apologize for what he had put them through. After the shock of him being alive had settled, they even seemed genuinely happy to see him, if a bit cautious. Their acceptance was enough to warm Derek's heart all the same.

He wasn't sure if he was their alpha anymore, but it was nice to see that they were all doing well, considering the circumstances. He didn't hesitate to add that since he would be staying in Beacon Hills for a while, they should let him know if they ever needed help with anything. It was the least he could do. Derek didn't know if they would take him up on the offer, but it felt nice to have given it.

Derek returned to his apartment and spent the following days looking for a job. That seemed like the next natural step in his plan to get settled. To his surprise, he heard from each and every one of his former betas during those days, and while he still wasn't particularly social he tried his best to at least not blow them off. They seemed happy with his efforts.

He almost dared to hope that they might be willing to accept him as their alpha again, but those were decisions for later.

He had been back for a little more than two weeks when there was a knock on his door. He could tell — both through smell and the sound of the uneven, jumpy heartbeats — that it was Stiles standing on the other side. Derek considered not answering, but his curiosity got the better of him. Not to mention that he hadn't seen Stiles in a while.

So he calmly opened the door, raising a questioning eyebrow when he saw the determined look on Stiles' face.

"I had to _blackmail_ Peter to even get your address," was Stiles' greeting words.

Derek other eyebrow rose to join the first. "You have _actual_ blackmail material on my uncle? I'm impressed."

Stiles' face cracked up into a wide grin, but then he seemed to remember that he was supposed to be serious.

"That's not the point! The point is, Derek, that you've apparently been making house visits to people, but couldn't even give me as much as a phone number." Stiles pushed his way into the apartment — that was to say, Derek let him pass because there was no way that Stiles would be able to do it forcibly with Derek in the way — and gestured between them. "You go to see Isaac, Erica, and Boyd, but I haven't heard a word."

Derek closed the door with calm, measured movements before he turned to face Stiles.

"I came to your first," he pointed out, "and you didn't want me there."

Stiles opened his mouth as if to reply, but no words came out. Derek crossed his arms over his chest and Stiles seemed to snap back to the matter at hand.

"Okay, fine, but I didn't even know it was you! You've been dead for _months_ , Derek. I thought I'd finally gone insane and started hallucinating," Stiles said. "I nearly had a panic attack and crashed my Jeep the first time I saw Peter drive around in the Camaro, because it wasn't the driver I noticed first, if I put it like that." Stiles swallowed. "I don't exactly have a good track record when it comes to dealing with your death."

Derek frowned. "You don't?"

He hadn't really asked anyone what life had been like after he was gone.

"No! I truly don't! I thought my dad was going to put me through therapy or something because I couldn't stop thinking about it." Stiles was flailing like usual, but there was something desperate to it — a look in his eyes that Derek didn't like. "You _died_ , Derek — right in front of me. Do you have any idea what that felt like? And to see you come back? How do you think that felt?"

"You didn't want me to come back," Derek reminded him, trying to hold back the hurt. "I heard you."

Stiles came to a sudden halt before he started shaking his head. "No. No, no, no. That wasn't what that was about. It's a coping tactic. I-I try to tell myself that I don't want it so maybe I'll stop. I keep telling myself that I'm fine, and eventually I will be."

Stiles looked haunted and Derek began to realize that Stiles really wasn't okay. At all. He looked okay, on the surface, but there was a lot buried underneath. Stiles wasn't over Derek or his death.

Stiles continued to gesture wildly between them, his breaths becoming shorter and sharper for each second that passed. Derek began to worry that Stiles was about to faint.

"I just— I saw you and my first thought was _finally_. A part of me never really accepted that you died. I just kept waiting for you to come back — perhaps because Peter did — but another part of me knew that wasn't likely. That I was probably imagining things. Wishful thinking." Stiles' voice trembled. "I didn't know what to do. I wanted to believe it, but reality is cruel and cold and—"

Derek grabbed ahold of Stiles' wrist and Stiles shut his mouth so fast his teeth clacked, staring at Derek with huge, frightened eyes. There was so much confusion there — so much grief and pain — that had never found and outlet. Until now. Stiles was falling apart.

Derek had no idea it had been this bad.

He took a deep, calming breath before he slowly pulled Stiles closer. Stiles didn't object, but his heart was beating so fast that Derek was worried that it might actually break out of his chest. Stiles entire being seemed to vibrate with some kind of nameless panic.

"Stiles, I'm alive," Derek said softly, making sure that Stiles could hear every single word. "I'm sorry that I died. I never wanted to leave you and I did my best to come back as quickly as possible. I'm sorry it wasn't sooner."

Stiles was still staring at him, his eyes wide and glassy, but something seemed to register. Something seemed to crack. Stiles gave a low, keening sound that went straight to Derek's heart. He sounded so lost and vulnerable that Derek didn't know what to do.

He wasn't good at things like these.

So he was relieved when Stiles solved it for him by suddenly tipping forward, as if all the fight and strength went out of him, slumping against Derek with a cracked, broken sob. Derek caught him on a reflex, but decided to hold on when he felt how badly Stiles was trembling.

Derek held on but had no clue if he was actually helping. Stiles was crying and Derek felt completely useless. This ranked pretty high on his scale of things he never wanted to experience again. He didn't even dare to move, which meant that they were left standing there, right by the door, while Stiles cried against his shoulder and clung to him like he was the sole firm point in his life. Derek felt awkward and clumsy but he didn't let go.

He didn't know how long it took before Stiles calmed down, but Derek was relieved when he heard Stiles' heartbeat even out, at least a little, and the sobs grew quieter. He was still shaking, but not as violently as he had been.

"Man... I really hated you for dying," Stiles mumbled weakly, words slurring. Derek cleared his throat but couldn't think of anything to say, which didn't seem to matter since Stiles continued on his own. "I just... I thought we were getting somewhere, you know? And then you died. Just like that. And all I got was that kiss. That one kiss. And as far as first kisses goes, that was a disastrous one." Stiles drew a trembling breath. "And then I had to watch you die. I saw you _die_ , Derek."

"I'm sorry." Derek had no idea what to say.

"I don't— I'm not asking you to apologize, Derek. I'm just trying to explain that I _hated_ that you died. I never really accepted it. I never stopped wanting you to come back, even if I knew that you probably couldn't. And then..." Stiles paused, exhaling slowly. "And then you did. You came back."

Stiles buried his face against Derek's neck and no matter how hard he tried, Derek couldn't help that he shivered. Stiles was warm and his scent was discernible even under the salty tang of tears. Derek tried to hold back the surge of hope within him.

"Why did you come back?" Stiles whispered softly, his lips brushing against Derek's skin. Which might have been why it took Derek an extra second to register the words.

He stiffened, even if he had already revealed enough for Stiles to know the truth.

"You came back because of me, didn't you?" Stiles arms were wrapped around Derek's middle, squeezing just a little tighter. "Thank you. I always wanted you to. I always hoped that you would, somehow. I'm not over it. I didn't forget."

Derek could barely breathe — and not because Stiles was hugging him hard enough for it to be slightly uncomfortable. No, he couldn't breathe because his chest ached with longing, confusion, and hope.

"And you definitely owe me a better first kiss," Stiles mumbled a little shyly. Derek chuckled, the ache turning into warmth, seeping through his veins until his entire body tingled.

"I'm not sure if you get do-overs." Derek raised his hand to carefully cradle Stiles' head, his fingers running through the soft mess of brown hair. "But I can promise you that the second will be better. How about that?"

"Y-yeah," Stiles croaked. He cleared his throat and pulled back enough to look Derek in the eyes. "That works. I can do that."

Stiles rubbed his face with the sleeve of his shirt, his eyes red from crying. When he attempted a smile it looked more like a wobbly grimace, but Derek couldn't really blame him for that. Derek held Stiles' head carefully between his hands, their foreheads resting against each other's.

"I'm sorry..." Derek mumbled. Even if Stiles didn't want apologies, Derek felt a need to give them.

He hadn't meant for this to happen and while they might be able to pick up where they left off, things wouldn't be the same. Derek might be calmer but Stiles was traumatized after what he had gone through, watching Derek die and then having to spend months mourning him.

But Derek still had hope. As unlikely as it seemed, he had hope.

"How long are you going to make me wait for that kiss?" Stiles asked, hints of his usual teasing finding its way back into his voice.

Derek smiled. "You are quite impatient."

"I've waited over eighteen months. I think some impatience is due."

Derek could only laugh, soft and a little disbelieving. He hadn't thought that he would get to have this. He had thought that Stiles had moved on.

Instead of replying, Derek inched back, just enough to catch Stiles' gaze, before he slowly moved closer again, brushing their lips together. It was tentative and a little frail the first couple of seconds, but it didn't take long before the longing made itself known. It was still a chaste kiss — tender and lingering — but definitely better than their first one. So much better than their first one.

When they pulled away, Stiles let out a shaky, delighted little sigh.

"Yeah, definitely okay. Definitely better." Stiles laughed softly against Derek's lips, his smile gentle and warm. "And it can only improve from here, right?"

Derek nodded, his thumb brushing against Stiles' cheekbone. He couldn't help smiling too. As strange as it might sound, dying might have been one of the best things to have happen to him. He felt surer of himself — had somehow settled into his own skin — and he had Stiles. He actually had Stiles.

Derek had clawed his way out of Purgatory and it had been well worth it.

He gave Stiles another brief kiss, full of hope, excitement, and joy. He had a future. A future with Stiles.

"Yeah," he agreed, "it's going to be great."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy endings all around! :D Because I'm too sappy to make it unhappy x'D
> 
> I could have written another chapter just detailing how Derek gets settled, because I want that for him so bad. I want to see him happy and at ease, alright? He deserves it. But I decided to keep the initial three chapters I had planned, since it's a better unit that way.
> 
> [CarpeDentum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeDentum) is my awesome beta as usual — give her some love — and you can always find me over at my [Tumblr](http://amethystinawrites.tumblr.com/) if you have any questions!
> 
> I hope that you enjoyed this little fanfic of mine (25 000 words is short in my book — those who have read The Thunder Moon Chronicles knows that) and that I did a good job with the characters, crossover in general, and did the [awesome gifset](http://stucklings.tumblr.com/post/61205740728/derek-doesnt-know-if-hes-doing-the-right-thing) that inspired this fanfic justice. Thank you, once again, to [stucklings](http://stucklings.tumblr.com/) for letting me write a fanfic for it! :D
> 
> And than YOU for reading, commenting and all the kudos!


End file.
